History Abound
by MuchFanVeryFic
Summary: Through history, and through literature, we discover ourselves. -a collection of Hetalia One Shots and Short Stories, from all throughout my mind. Enjoy-
1. Angel Lost

_**Angel Lost**_

 _Hey, guys. I don't know if you all can tell, but this is an edit._

 _I changed only minor details, but did so throughout, making the story better, I hope._

 _Once again, this story uses four characters- Prussia (Gilbert), Birdie (Hungary), Arkadi (Russia), and Mattieu (Canada). It is set in a somewhat Medieval-esque time period, with technology advanced a little bit beyond that, and assorted magic along with it. This universe is odd, and of my own creation; I hope no one minds it._

 _That is all for now, enjoy._

 _~Doge_

* * *

[Subject: Classified] [Time: Classified] [Case: ERADICATED]

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[A large, black suit shuffles his documents. So very important. A throat becomes cleared, and awkward movements ensue, as per usual.]

["What do you want? I have nothing. I am nothing, especially not to one such as yourself. So explain to me, why am I here?"]

["We ask only one thing, sir. It's simple. Really simple. The truth." Those important documents are carelessly tossed to the man sitting across from the suit. Actually, the toss was precise, and delicate, engineered to appear thoughtless and uninterested. It is all a lie, like most things.]

[He looks up, taken slightly aback. Those worn, gravely hands grip the tender paper tightly, and a blank face suddenly pales. "... I assure you, out of all the things in this world, the truth is the least simple. You could never understand... I..."]

[This suit, he didn't want to hear this slurry of shit once again. His glassy eyes rolled upwards, back, then down again. The last one brought in had done the same when the file was thrown his way. These war veterans, they were all the same. Tremendous stories poured from their lips, tales of hardships and woe... The endless rivers of blood flowing over their hands... The suit, he preferred to keep to the cleaner work, really.]

[The old veteran, he caught the eye of the suit, and a lip raised in a silent snarl. "You checkin' for a brain back there?" The shade was thrown with as much ease as a sack of kittens over a bridge, into their deep demise.]

[A thick lip twitched, and a deep voice spoke: "We are not expecting you to simply throw out what you know... Keep in mind, we know you know... And we know much as well. But not everything. Not like you do. And we are willing... Willing to pay a fair price. More than you could ever want."]

[Scorn pulsed through thin veins. "You think it is money I want?! No, I do not want that putrid substance! And I refuse to throw my life at your uncaring ears, your prying eyes. I refuse! And you cannot make me, you cannot break me. You are right, I know everything, everything there ever was to know, and I hate it, every last bit of it. But with knowledge comes power, and I implore you to understand, I am more powerful than you know."]

[The suit didn't so much as blink. All was predicted, planned. "Yes, sir, I do understand. But I want you to understand, we were not offering you money. We were offering you freedom. From everything. In exchange for your everything."]

[A moment of consideration is all it takes. "... Then it is yours. You have won my power. Please, release me..."]

["All in due time. Play your part, I will play mine... A duet, if you will."]

[Words are instruments just as much as a violin is. Just as the hairs of the bow fly across the strings in slow melody, words spring from the mouth with practice and preparation]

I will start here. With how I obtained this information. It won't make sense otherwise... Trust me.

He was there, in all of his arrogant glory. He never failed to remind us what was constantly drilled into his frail mind. Amidst it all, I was there. Of course I was. I often wonder why.

The ground was bloody. But the earth still shuddered at the sight of our troop. We were not men... We were pawns, ugly, disgusting, wrong. Used to the point of no redemption. Hatred for ourselves flowed through us like a life force. Sweet mistress Fate visited us as the moon sat high in the sky, whispering her anticipations, her sickeningly sweet nothings, her promises to us. And then, she would leave without so much as a word. Rude bitch.

Miserable, is the only word to describe us. Except for him. The one of us who could find no flaw within himself, the mystery of us all, he who could not be defeated. Except for the day he was.

It was a predestined fight. We all knew it. Aside from him. For him, it was a pop quiz on a subject he had not even begun to understand. When the harbinger of death descended, we realized what Fate had been telling us. And we, having been trained to do so, accepted it without complaint.

There was no struggle. I can not fathom how I was alive, I suppose it has something to do with ours finally snapping out of his three second paralysis. To be fair, the mighty attacker had truly sprung from no where. It was as if the air in front of us was clear one moment, then filled with death the next.

However, I digress. They had trained ours well, I will tip my hat to that. His attacks were swift, unpredictable, and designed to draw the enemy in, infuriate them. Make them be lulled to a sense of security by their fostering rage. And when that bear of a man had finally had enough, he came in, and came in hard. Our own mystery man almost had his head smashed in. But he was quick, his legs carried him away, and back.

This was when the real fighting began. It was vicious, like two dogs bred and raised to rip each other apart were finally given the glorious chance. And how they relished that chance. There were no faults in their moves. They danced and ran to a steady beat, never losing track of the music to which they preformed.

No true hits made contact. Not until the final step in their Red Waltz. Both suddenly pulled hidden blades as they passed, one went through spinal column, another through a lung and a heart.

The bear-man fell. His violet eyes were dull and blank, he was already gone.

My... Ours, he was sputtering pitifully. I had never heard such a noise, and never expected one from the proud likes of him. But when I approached his quickly dying body, I saw something seared into my mind to this day.

It seemed like every bit of pain, anxiety, suffering this man had ever felt were all suddenly condensed into one unforgiving moment. He stared up at me with big, sorry red eyes. I don't know why they were sorry.

His chest convulsed, trying to figure out what was wrong, what was not working, why? It had never happened before, it didn't make sense...

It seemed the fellow's arm was smarter than his abdomen, it outstretched towards me, looking for some comfort in this apathetic world. Of course, I took it, nearly choking myself to death with my own sorrow.

I have never regretted a decision more in all of my years of living.

You see, our squad consisted of the gifted individuals. And I was extra special. A trophy on the shelf of broken toys. By a single touch, I could...

The images, memories. They flashed by, panicked birds looking to flee. I was the only place they could go. And for some ungodly reason, I accepted them and their panic. I think... I knew this was his only chance... I was his only chance...

...

I will start his story now. Gilbert's story, of course. If I pause, forgive me. These memories are not my own, they are not pretty.

...

There isn't much for his Childhood, up until age fifteen. That's when he enlisted. So that is where I will start.

...

Rain. He hated rain. But all it did was rain. It stung his skin, itchy irritation that really pissed him off. No matter, he was finally off, off on his dreams. Far from his boring home. He knew he had... Disabilities, but... Surely they would be overlooked? Surely.

No. They were not overlooked. The medical examiner immediately pulled him out of the group, caring not when the young man's face fell.

Then, the crowd dispersed, and the two were left all alone in the cold white room.

"Boy... Where you from?"

An answer was mumbled, in soft German.

"... Well, you're exotic too? Damn, son, you just couldn't be better, eh? Well, congrats kid, you made it. Welcome." The doctor said, his voice layered with a years worth of sarcasm and indifference.

Gilbert was roughly shoved towards a thick steel door, inside. Colder, it was far colder in here... Why?

No one answered. Not for at least a day, he kept track. When the door was opened again, he was not where he was previously. It was a lab, like the ones you see in fantasies... It couldn't be real...

His bare feet made their way out of his box, and his eyes went wide in awe.

It all only lasted for a few seconds. A needle slipped under his chin, into his skin, its contents dumped into his system without a care for his own opinion on the matter. Red eyes rolled back. The boy began to fall, but large arms stopped his ungraceful descent.

When he woke up next, he was sitting in a chair. No restraints, no creepy man staring back at him. It was a nice looking lady, actually. Her smile was bright, genuine.

"Hey there sweetie!" She chirped, her voice so bird like and melodic that it took Gilbert a couple moments to stutter back.

She giggled. "Aww, don't worry about it honey." She tapped her pen, making the boy realize they were both at a nice desk, in a nice, friendly room. "Can I take your name, dear?" Her words poured from her bird-mouth like honey.

"Gilbert." He answered, voice somewhat hoarse from not being used.

"Gilbert?" She mused as she wrote. "What a lovely name... Do you speak English?"

While he could understand it, he could never quite speak the odd language. "Nien..."

"Mmmm, yeah, I figured. Don't worry about that, we'll get that sorted out soon enough... Thankfully, I am fluent in many languages, including German..."

Questions. They never seemed to end. Anything, everything was questioned. Even his, uh, virginity. His stuttering never seemed to cease, causing the kind bird lady to laugh loudly before calming and assuring Gilbert that it really didn't matter, and no one would judge him. Still took some coaxing to get his answer. Yes, he still had that human created item that existed only in thought.

Then, the questions suddenly stopped. The lady, she just started staring. Breathing, still, preforming all basic functions. Just staring directly into Gilbert's young eyes.

...

This was when he had crossed the line, past the point of no return.

...

Her face was blank. Her eyes hollow, emotionless.

Crack.

Gilbert flinched, looking at the woman. It sounded like a bone had just snapped within her.

He began to ask if she was okay, but there was another snap. Then another. And another. Until the chorus of snap, crack, popping bones seemed deafening. The young man clamped his shaking hands over his ears, his eyes tightly shut, hoping to wake up from whatever horrible dream this must've been.

Silent.

He sighed, breathing in once, and back out, before removing his protective ear armor, expecting to see the boring, yet comforting tones of the walls in his room. What he was met with was a set of sadistically delighted eyes, and haunting teeth, on a face unlike anything he had ever seen. She... Was a... A... Bi-bird... Birdie...

A disgusting creature with rotting feathers and hideous wings, elongated neck and gruesome claws.

Gilbert's mouth opened in a silent scream, his lungs suddenly demanding more oxygen. He breathed through his mouth, practically a shuddering and quiet gasp with each intake.

The heart in his chest hardly dared to keep its rhythm, not really sure if it wanted to go on, because if creatures like this existed, was there truly a reason to go on?

Apparently so, because he did not die in that moment. His ears stopped doing their job, his balance going out of whack as dizziness from too much oxygen set it.

The harpy cut her act, and a voice like the purest and smoothest silk spouted form her mouth. "You've passed. Congratulations, and really, welcome, welcome to a special initiative."

Gilbert began to shake his head no, no, he didn't want to be apart of the army anymore, he wanted to be back home now, he changed his mind, but it was far, far too late for that.

He was so far gone.

Like a bottle with hope written inside washed out to sea, hoping to come out on the other side unscathed.

Unfortunately, this bottle came in contact with the jaws of a ruthless shark.

The harpy's mouth crashed into Gilbert's own with unexpected accuracy. The air left his lungs, they wheezed, begging for air, but were deprived.

Birdie's clawed hands rose, gripping his chin with delicacy one shows a prized animal before slaughtering it.

The wet, flesh bound muscle belonging to her mouth gently invaded, savoring the taste of youth, the delicate and unspoiled innocence, the flawless, tender, and certainly unwarranted moan from the other.

Oh, she couldn't help it. She roughly bit down on Gilbert's lower lip, drawing the sweet and pure blood up from within.

Trembling, he was trembling. His body quaked as if it were experiencing a sudden shift in tectonic plates, signaling a new era dawning. He couldn't stop shaking, and if the mood was a little lighter, he would have commented on how he probably looked like a chihuahua who had just chugged an energy drink. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't speak, he was powerless, disabled, and...

Nothing was right in the world, Gilbert decided. Especially not him. Definitely not him. Not now. He was officially broken, and dead to himself if anyone was wondering.

Because...

Damn it...

Gilbert was actually enjoying this.

Out of all things. Why. Why this.

It didn't matter, anyway, because this first moment of many was ended abruptly with a sudden exhale from Birdie, which left the officially-dead-to-himself-as-far-as-he-was-concerned boy to slump down, a shuddering breath leaving his body.

The terrifying woman ran a kind finger over his busted lip, wiping away the welled up blood, and sealing the minimal wound.

She licked the bloody finger thoughtfully, tapping her chin with the other hand. Her body moved in unnatural ways, clicking back to its nicer form before she answered her internal questions. "Inexperienced, but honestly not half bad." She concluded with a click of her tongue. She placed a hand on the table, standing with a slight grunt. The lady made her way to the door, but not before tucking in her chair, and rubbing her hand through Gilbert's white hair affectionately.

"... I think I like this one." Birdie murmured as she exited the room, a soft grin on her face. This was a good day.

...

...

It wasn't until the next day that he gained his consciousness back. Drool ran down the corner of his mouth, how very charming. Gilbert blinked, confused. He was in a bed, a rather comfortable one. His eyes searched the featureless room, and his thoughts searched the equally featureless expanse of his mind.

He cringed despite himself, his fogged shore of memories had finally cleared up.

"Damn..." He muttered, collapsing back down on his pillow, partially out of dizziness, mostly because of shame.

He scrubbed suddenly his gritty eyes with white knuckles, the heat of his face particularly annoying.

A harsh light shone from above, he was sure he would have gone blind if it hadn't been for his hands blocking some of the harmful rays. Gilbert squeaked in surprise, hissing at the pain that shot from the back of his skull.

"... You're like a vampire, huh?" A voice from another room asked. He looked for the source, and eventually faced a mirror. "Excuse me?"

"You don't like light? Like a vampire?"

The apparently vampire-ish boy tilted his head, brow scrunched. "I... Guess." His voice was thick with sleep, the odd accent it never ceased to carry whirled through the air on his breath.

"Yeah. But you're not a vampire, right?"

"... I don't think so."

"Zhat iz good, yah!"

Gilbert glared, not appreciating the teasing voice.

"Hey, sorry. A-anyway... Uh, well, welcome to the special units program, a pretty top secret military project. You know how it goes, tell anyone and we will hunt you down and kill everyone you love in front of your eyes, haha! Pretty crazy, huh?"

... Oddly enough, Gilbert laughed. That WAS crazy!

"... Uh... Yeah... So, um, this is your room. It's where you're gonna sleep and stuff. You'll probably be monitored to make sure you don't try anything... Insane. You seem like a real maniac, from what our intern tells us."

He WAS a maniac, huh? He laughed again, louder this time. A rather stupid grin had grown on his face, making itself quite at home.

The voice went silent. The one who owned the voice was currently staring at the fifteen year old, who in turn was staring at a one way mirror. The voice was... Unsure about this one. Just yesterday, this kid had been mild mannered and quiet... Scared. But now... What had happened, what had the intern done to him? Actually, the voice choose not to think about that.

"You okay, Gilbert?"

The one in question flinched heavily, the sound of his name allowing his senses to surface from the depths of his subconscious. His eyes grew large as he realized, he was not okay, what was he thinking? Crazy things! Bad crazy things!

Gilbert's head hung low, his fingers shuffled together, muttering "sorry"s and "excuse me"s as they bumped together.

"Um. No." He finally answered.

"... Don't worry about it. None of us are."

...

Days rambled on, slow and lazy. Gilbert sat around his room, sometimes pacing, and most of the time talking. He wasn't allowed out, not yet, he was told. Which was fine, his typically mild mannered disposition was perfectly alright with being patient. He rather enjoyed all of this time to himself. The voice wasn't always around, but he liked the moments it was.

"Do you know why I'm here?"

"... Cuz you enlisted?"

"... No, why I am here, this specific place. Here, where ever this is."

"Oh! That's because your genetic makeup, your DNA, is in some manner, messed up."

"My... DNA."

"Yeah! Your genetic code has faltered, having small details botched, but not to the point of major disability, resulting in albinism. Sure, maybe your eyes are sensitive, but that is a minor exchange for what could be done!"

Gilbert winced, he didn't like it when people talked about his eyes... Or hair... It didn't often go well. Not for him, anyway.

"Hey, what's wrong? I say something offensive?"

"Not this time. Nah, I just... People aren't typically so enthusiastic about my features. I've had some bad times over them."

"Well, that's not fun!"

"You're telling me."

"I guess I am, huh?"

"... Uh, you never really explained why me having bad DNA was a good thing, by the way."

"Oh, yeah! Well, basically, we've discovered, if DNA is already faulty, we can alter it with less horrible side effects. It's kinda like the body has just accepted the horrible truth that it's fucked up, and doesn't mind more fuckery being added to the slurry!"

"..."

Gilbert had turned, facing towards another wall. A nasty glare was plastered on his face, and his red eyes had narrowed. The voice realized this and winced, what had it said this time? Gilbert was known for holding nasty grudges, sometimes he would go for days without talking. Which was significantly odd.

"So that's what I am?" He muttered through clenched teeth, grating against each other in a battle of rage.

"A fuck up... Well, I suppose the news would be broken someday." Gilbert snorted, twisting his upper body to face the mirror once more. His face was contorted, the muscles under the skin seemed confused as to what they were supposed to be doing. Some decided to stick with the angry approach, especially around the mouth, and eyebrows. But the cheeks and muscles bordering the eyebrows appeared distraught, they knew the others were lying, those scoundrels! They were upstanding tissues, with nothing to hide. So, they hid nothing.

"... I didn't mean it like that."

"Then, why did you say it like that? You... You told me before that I was special, I was the most important one here. And now... Now you tell me that I..." The boy's voice shattered through the middle of the sentence, the chord of the melody being ripped to shreds by the sour note. "I don't think I like being special."

...

"The kids got spunk, I'll give him that."

"Yes, but also themes of insubordination!"

"Don't worry about that! He's not yet a full grown man, right now he's at the best age to train!"

"Why do you refer to him as if he's some mere dog picked up off the streets? He's a gift to us from the heavens, a right angel! A sign! Give him some credit, some respect, you fools!"

"... You are right, forgive us."

"Yes sir, we are sorry for that."

"Definitely terribly sorry, won't ever happen again."

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to him!"

"Not now, you oaf, he's sleeping! Actually, forget about it, he wont ever come to know any of this any way. Moving on, gentlemen, when shall we- he -begin?"

"... We agreed on the full moon of next month, correct?"

"Aye."

"Well, good then. We must get him ready for the big day, hmm?"

"Yes, scrawny little thing wouldn't survive a day if we just let him go."

"Indeed, we will need to send him with special instructions, as well, don't want anyone hurting him too much, hmm?"

"Absolutely not! Not yet, anyway, he's too young and delicate. Let him grow some before we get serious. We run a clean business here, right?"

"Aye!"

"Yes sir!"

"Indeed!"

...

"Alright, Gilbert, it's the day!" The voice crowed, delighted.

"Yeah, I know." Gilbert replied, not nearly as enthusiastic. He did not know what to expect. He was finally being let out. He had been warned of the dangers he would face, and the inner strength he would need to gain the outer strength so desired.

The heart in his chest beat with promise, it fueled his courage as it pumped his blood. He felt a surge of much needed encouragement flutter through his body, and he stood with a small sigh. No bags to take, he noted with a tinge of sadness.

Gilbert approached the door, and took the cool, round handle in his own soft skinned hand.

He turned it, almost sorry that it wasn't locked. Honestly, he had grown fond of this nice little room. When the door opened wide, like a portal into the unknown, Gilbert proudly stepped through, an arrogant, not to mention half fake, grin lit his face.

"Aren't you just the cutest!" A very familiar- and terrifying- voice rang out.

Gilbert stumbled back into... The door? When had it closed? Actually. That was not a door. That was her.

Her lanky arms wrapped around his thin frame, and Gilbert's once strong smile had been uprooted by a somewhat horrified, perhaps mortified, scowl. Being locked away, with all that time to think, he had decided he did not like Birdie in the slightest, nu-uh, not at all.

"H-hey, get off!" He demanded, squirming in her grip.

"Not for a million gold pieces!" Birdie declared back, her voice dancing with amusement.

Gilbert tried his hardest to get the despicable limbs off of his shoulders, out from around his torso, but damn, this lady was far stronger than he. She didn't even seem to budge a centimeter, despite his best efforts.

"How charming." She purred into his ear, causing a shiver to travel down his back. Did she not know exactly how awkward this was for him? Had she completely forgotten what she had done, only a month previous?

"Hmm, yes, I do know, and no, how could I ever forget?" She said, a sincere light of fondness sparking her beautifully shrill notes.

Gilbert stiffened, absolutely not liking what was happening. Out of all the things, she had to be a mind reader. God help him.

Birdie paused a moment, taking the time to sniff Gilbert. She nodded, satisfied by the concoction his body gave off.

"What do you call me? I know you've given me a nickname, what is it?" She asked, wanting to be polite, rather than just gleaning it from his mind.

"Nothing." Gilbert replied, not wanting to be polite in the slightest.

Birdie snorted, this kid definitely had spunk. "Birdie. I like that name, it's the nicest name anyone has ever given me."

The lady tossed politeness to the wind, smirking.

Realizing Gilbert was not going to comment, how sad, Birdie decided she would force him to reply. She was not one to be ignored, and how she adored making him uncomfortable.

A certain slimy appendage slid out of her mouth, and Birdie appreciated the fact that it was long- perfect for traveling down a man's throat- because she was tall, and Gilbert was still short. A small bump on the road of her quest, easily gotten over.

The tongue on a mission, as she called it, touched the pale skin, now paler because of the current events, of Gilbert's shoulder, winding around his neck to under his chin.

Not only was this terribly unpleasant, gross, and did I mention disgusting? It was actually tickling him!

Gilbert shrieked uncharacteristically, suddenly finding the strength to break away from Birdie's grasp. He fell forward, but twisted around just as fast to face his admirer. His scowl had grown, it was stricken with an indignant, bitter irritation. "What the fuck?!" The young man demanded, red eyes curdled with sour frustration. "That was disgusting, don't fucking touch me, you hideous old crow!"

Gilbert snarled. He was acting as if he had been stabbed outright, and, well-

It was fast and unexpected, the knife had lodged deep into his shoulder. In fact, the knife had plunged all the way through previously unscarred flesh, into the wooden floor beneath. Gilbert cried out, flat on his back, staring up at a set of murderous eyes, belonging to a woman who was literally bred for killing men.

He whimpered, breath hitching as his body tried to decide what to think about the blood that was beginning to pool on the floor. He was in shock, so the pain that should have existed in him was replaced by frenzied buzzing.

"You shouldn't be so mean." Birdie whispered, not sorry in the slightest.

"... You shouldn't be such a bitch." Gilbert retorted, two proud tears dribbling their way down his face.

Birdie stared blankly at him for a moment, and Gilbert was almost certain this was the day he would die. At least he would die happy.

The lady craned her head back in mad cackling, at last, this, -this child!-Beneath her was shaping up! Oh, how proud she felt at that moment. What an odd feeling.

Birdie yanked the knife out of her mock victim with more force than necessary, eliciting a shallow yelp. She inspected it, and happily cleaned it. With what else, than her tongue.

"Th-that's really gross." Gilbert protested weakly. Oh boy, today was definitely the day.

"No, it's not. It's yummy." At that, as far as Gilbert was concerned, he would never have the appetite to eat again regardless of if he survived.

"Oh, don't look at me like that!" Birdie scolded. She brought the knife to a finger tip, slicing through thin skin to access the flowing, dark gold beneath. She administered it greedily into the boy's wound, her chest swelling at the thought that she was technically now a part of this young man, whether he liked it or not. "I'm helping."

"Ow!" The trapped man hissed, clenching red eyes shut. "That stings, cut it out, dammit!" Directly after saying this, a strange noise escaped from his mouth, sounding something like a combination of a groan and a wail, as his wound suddenly sealed back. It was as though he had never been stabbed.

Birdie giggled. "That was funny, do it again!"

A red heat found its way to Gilbert's face, and he denied Birdie of words because of it. The lady shrugged, glancing at the collection of blood on the floor with a small light in her abyssal eyes.

"Don't do that. Don't even imply it, because I already know, and I really wish I didn't, so don't remind me." Gilbert growled, voice edged by a sigh. Birdie was about to say something else, but Gilbert cut her off with a rough 'shh'.

"Suit your self, Gilbert." Birdie then went to thoughtfully tapping her chin, a thought had entered her mind, and she chuckled. "Gilbird. That's a combination of our names, how cute."

The one under her audibly groaned, and muttered, "Shut your whore mouth already, and put me out of my misery..."

"As if you don't like it when it's open." Birdie hissed back, tone dangerous. Her hand rose, settling down in Gilbert's warm, ruffled hair, as if it was meant to rest among the follicles all of its life.

At first, Gilbert was stunned speechless. He really, really prayed what she had just said was not even remotely true.

He looked up at the hand on his head, as if to check and make sure Birdie was not fulfilling his second request. The red orbs then returned to her, a mildly petrified splotch apparent in both.

The lovely lady shrugged, and smiled. "Whatever you want, my dear." Birdie obliged, and her hand turned into a fist, hair balled up inside. She yanked up, then slammed back down, satisfied with the dull thunk his skull made as it contacted the ground with a grumpy hello.

...

A rhythmic stabbing was the first sign of being awake to Gilbert. He groaned to himself, rubbing his throbbing skull in some odd attempt to quell the pain. This was a new place, he could tell, a new start hopefully.

It was, indeed a new start for him.

This was his first day of true training.

In the months that followed his first day, the young boy of only fifteen years existence grew substantially. His body changed around him, it matured, and realized what it was. Of course, the physical exertion placed on him each day may have helped him go from a scrawny little thing, to a practically full grown man, who could definitely hold his own.

And for once in his life... He was actually proud of himself.

...

Of course, it was never so simple. The beginning months were easy, compared to what was to come. There were several different programs to go through: Strength, Stealth, Weapons, Survival, Hand-Hand Combat, even English (all were basic classes, however, not too in depth. He would return later and truly complete them). To make the task even more daunting, each class had levels, and to get where he needed to go, he had to gain the highest level possible.

And somehow... He did it. In four and a half years, he accomplished what was once thought to be impossible. This was no record time, however most people were expected to do it in five years, so it wasn't bad either. It was exactly how it all needed to be, the jigsaw puzzle finally being brought together in predestined ways.

Don't get me wrong, this is only half the puzzle completed. There's much more to do...

...

...

I will now explain the plans had for Gilbert. As aforementioned, rather crudely might I add, his DNA was not perfect. He was an albino, and therefore had a fault in the code, if not multiple faults. Albinism, when considering the end goal here, was the best error possible. It is not lethal, nor does it cause major disabilities other than sensitivity to light. These faults could be exploited, DNA exchanged for DNA, thus changing his overall being in some way.

You may ask, what are the technicalities of this process? I answer in a sort of analogy.

We should all know about vampires. The lore that goes along with them, that a bitten victim shall turn and join the undead ranks. Well, that statement isn't entirely wrong, under the right circumstances. But if you think about it, considering the number of vampires, and how often they require food, and then the number of living people/prey items, it doesn't add up. The world would be quite over run by the foul beasts, yes? No more people would be left, unless we apply the variable that vampires have consciences and would feel bad about causing a massive species to go extinct, but that is highly unlikely.

No, vampires are not created through a simple bite on the neck. They are created through transfusion. A vampire must open up one of their own veins, then open up one of the chosen person's vein, and transfer their blood into the soon to be vampire. Vampires, being a supernatural creature, have strong, infectious blood. When enough of that blood enters a human's body, it overrides the existing system, forcing it to become similar to itself. Which means that the DNA is causing this change, in adding cells and eventually creating new, vampiric cells. (Technically it is the genes coded by DNA, dominant to other genes therefore turning them off, are what is causing this change to occur, but I will not delve too deeply into the subject to keep this as simple as possible.)

By this logic, if enough of a certain DNA is placed in a body, could it have the same effect? The answer is yes. Especially if the existing DNA has weaker links.

This was the plan for Gilbert, essentially a mad experiment based on creatures of fable. The boy had no idea. And with that fact, another, less pleasant one reared its head. Transfusion was extremely painful. To look at it in simple terms, it is as if your body was undergoing a revolutionary war, two sides fighting and one obviously losing. Eventually, all functions shut down completely as new cells are made to replace the ones needing replacement, which is not all, but most of them. By shutting down, the body is essentially dead, or at least in a fetus like state, for around twelve hours. Any number of those twelve hours are said to be the most excruciating experience one would ever have to go through, even for those who had undergone childbirth. It also isn't pleasant to watch, convulsions and screaming are common side effects of those undergoing the process. To add to that, some were even recorded to commit suicide because of it, the brain being overloaded by constant saturated pain simply gives out- meaning the people had not killed themselves on purpose, it was more comparable to a natural reaction.

Gilbert was destined to go through a couple of these transfusions, nearly tripling the extent of risk. Another question is raised: How do you make it so that a person, especially one as young and inexperienced to high levels of pain as he, would not enter that suicidal state? Especially considering how fragile his mind was, being highly sensitive, aware, and on the brink of self hatred at some points?

There are several methods, actually. All of which the doctors were willing to put Gilbert through, to save him later on. The two most effective methods were both odd forms of therapy. One was set up for two functions, raising self esteem, and greatly increasing pain tolerance- among other things. The other was designed to break him down, make him moldable, access the desired trait, and reward him when he does what he is wanted to do.

Surprisingly enough, both of these are well known. They are also frowned upon by any psychiatrist who is not aiming to mentally scar their patient, or other wise induce... Odd behaviors.

As much as the doctors did not want to do just that... It was their only option to be cruel, just this once. Surely Gilbert would understand. Surely.

...

A hand moved towards the door, its mission clear. However, it stopped, suddenly unsure of if it should continue on its way. The moment of questioning passed quickly. A fist made solid contact with the metal door, the sharp thud reverberating within the room opposite of it.

Gilbert woke with a jolt, his haunting red eyes flying open in a desperate attempt to identify what had made that noise, it was surely on its way to end him. His ears caught up soon enough, giving the eyes a quick lecture on exactly what that sound was, and began demanding why they were ignorant enough to believe there had been any real danger.

The young man groaned softly to himself, never having been any good with getting up. Another knock sounded, and despite his griping body, Gilbert shoved himself up, out of the comfy bed.

The walk to the door that morning may have been one of the hardest tasks Gilbert ever had to preform. Nothing seemed to work, and he couldn't tell what was slower; his mental being or his physical being. All this was because he was hung over, although hardly so in comparison to some others. It had happened the night before, the friends he had gathered over the years he was there had thrown him a party to congratulate him on finally finishing his training. It wasn't the wildest party, but everyone would agree it was enjoyable. The small amount of alcohol they had, which was cheap beer, disgusting, was one of the major highlights of the event. When the friends discovered that Gilbert hadn't a drop of alcohol before in his life, they made sure he could no longer truthfully declare that fact.

Little did anyone know he would be shipped out the very next day. So when Gilbert answered that door, and was met with a forgotten face, he nearly keeled over. Mostly because of the face.

Birdie's smile grew, she was enthralled to finally be seeing Gilbert once more. Especially now that he had matured.

Gilbert could not agree with that. He was, however, proud to note that he was officially as tall as the harpy. That was the only pleasant feeling winding through him, though, as minor and insignificant as it was. His upper lip lifted in a defiant snarl, and dark hints of anger entered his eyes.

"So full of hatred..." Birdie drawled the observation. "And, despite all of that, something is still holding you back from socking me square in the jaw, and walking away. What is it, hmm?" She purred, and at the sight of Gilbert's face, she knew she had stuck a nerve.

The anger that had welled up inside of the boy, it faltered. So did his outward anger. There was no denying the truth, not at this stage in his life anyway. He was a pretty terrible liar, is the end statement. Gilbert knew he was clearly defeated, and his chin lowered, looking away.

Birdie laughed quietly, taking deep sniffs of the air, relishing the almost forgotten smell. "Anywho, today is moving day!" She quirked a comical eyebrow. "I don't need to crack your skull against a hard surface again, do I?"

Gilbert laughed bitterly, his glare returning to its once evicted house. "Yeah, no thanks."

Birdie frowned sadly, then shrugged. "Well, come along then, we've got places to be!"

Things were packed, things were discarded. Gilbert found his old flute, he had learned to play it during his extra time. Upon discovery, he was given two choices: play the instrument, or have a grateful tongue shoved down his throat. Nearly gagging at the second option, he opted to put on a small performance, playing a tune from memory. It was a solo, Partita as it was called. Might as well display his skill and ability, for no one else really seemed to find interest in it.

Birdie nodded slowly as Gilbert ended the piece early, she had mentioned they had places to be, right? And stuck a hand out expectantly. "Let me see the flute."

Gilbert held the prized object close to his body. "No, you'll lick it or something!" He protested, unable to hide the slight laugh on the edge of his voice.

Birdie was about to argue, she had no intentions of that actually, but then laughed, because Gilbert was right, she probably would have ended up doing that.

Smirking a his slight victory, the young man packed up his instrument, and collected the rest of his things.

Afterwards, the two headed off, leaving the base to whatever lay ahead.

When the odd pair arrived, Gilbert shuddered, this building did not look friendly in any manner. The angles were harsh, colors dull, air ominous. All set off alarm bells in his mind. Looking over to Birdie, he whined, "I don't think I'll actually be going in there."

She looked at him, confused. "Yes, you will."

"Uh, no? Have you actually ever taken the time to look at the place?" He exclaimed. Although, it made sense that the harpy didn't care, she fit right in with the creepy feel of the place.

"Oh boo hoo, he's scared of a building!" Birdie teased. Her hands were on her hips, sassily laughing at him.

Oh shit. No way. Not this, don't do it, don't you dare... "I am not!" Gilbert hissed, eyes narrowed. He turned, stomping inside the building, ignoring the sensible thoughts whirring through his head, trying to tell him exactly how bad of an idea it was, and how stupid he was for actually falling for that trick.

Birdie watched him walk away, frowning to herself.

...

...

...

Hydrotherapy. It is old and simple, often used as a form of torture. These doctors, they did not want to torture anyone. They were not in that line of work. They had goals, however, and were expected to reach such goals. No matter the sacrifices made throughout. Although you can rest assured, they never did forget exactly what they did, that year. Not a single day of it.

...

...

...

And Gilbert entered the ominous building, a figure rushed up to him. He was dressed in a dazzlingly white lab coat, black pants. Formal attire for an environment such as this, to say the least.

"Hello, Gilbert." The white coat greeted. A synapse of recognition flared in the boy's brain, triggering a smile to spread on his face. "Hey... Long time no talk, yeah?" This man could be recognized as the Voice from when Gilbert first enrolled. When he received no answer, Gilbert tilted his head, a string of worry creased his face. "Is something wrong?"

The man in white sighed, and turned away from Gilbert, just for a single moment. In that single moment, he asked forgiveness from any God who happened to be listening, along with some help for this kid near him. He was going to need it.

Gilbert looked to his friend in confusion. "Alright, cut the shit and te-" the notes were cut off by a fist colliding with his jaw.

The world was going fuzzy, wibbly wobbly, and he groaned. Why did he need to be knocked out for every little thing?!

"Sorry, bud, but I had to do that..." The doctor sympathized.

"... 'M still here...ass..." Gilbert slurred. Might as well alert them to his being awake.

"I know."

Gilbert was stunned into silence, until a sharp metal object pierced his lower back. "Ow! What the hell was that?!" An angry snarl left his mouth, demanding explanation for this bull cockey.

"A simple paralysis agent."

"Okay, that makes sense."

"It means that in a couple of seconds you won't be able to move much."

Gilbert was no hound, but it didn't take a dog to smell when some thing was this wrong. He tried his hardest to form words, but it seemed that paralysis was already holding him hostage.

Gilbert was hoisted up, his body thrown over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Hmm, he liked potatoes.

Never mind that, where was he going? And why? He couldn't see much other than white cloth... A fluttering sigh left his lungs, and Gilbert could have sworn that he smelled pancakes.

...

You see, if there was one thing Gilbert hated, it was water. He didn't know why, maybe he had almost drowned when he was young. Regardless of how it happened, a strict fear of swimming, and especially being trapped under water had staked a claim in his head. I don't know if you can tell, but this is a problem, considering how hydrotherapy works.

Fear... Is a powerful thing.

...

A strong yet delicate hand reached out, it snagged the back of Gilbert's black tank top. He was dragged backwards, an already a crazed smile was forming on his face.

"Where are we goin' this time?"

"Where ever you wanna go."

"Oh, I won't say that aloud."

"... I swear to god you are such a dick."

"That's a compliment in my books!"

"No shame. It's nonexistent to you."

"Hey hey hey! I couldn't say much more about you a couple years back, so who's to say you aren't my role model?"

"oh my god."

Gilbert suddenly stopped his backwards pace, and began to slip towards the ground. Birdie shrieked, nearly tumbling on top of him.

"I'm too weak, I can't go on."

"You were actually just walking, and since when do you admit to that?"

"Since I want you to carry me. I'm too weak. I cannot."

"You are full of shit, you know that?"

"Yes."

The lady couldn't help it, she smiled down at the man on the ground. There was no way she could refuse that damn face. "I hate you." She reached down, scooping up Gilbert in thin arms, bride-style.

"I love me."

"We all know that."

Gilbert wiggled in her arms, laughing that odd 'kessesesesesesesesese' laugh of his.

"You really need to stop being cute, I'm highly allergic."

"It's not cute. It's manly. How many times do I have to remind you?"

"Every time you act cute."

"Ouch, harsh."

"It's supposed to be."

"I'm sorry, say again? I don't speak un-awesome."

"Not this again, please-!"

"WHAAAAT?"

"GILBERT SERIOUSLY."

"DONT SAY MY NAME, YOU ARE UNWORTHY!"

At that, Birdie smiled down at the man in her arms sinisterly. And suddenly, the supports under Gilbert's body vanished, allowing gravity to drive his ass to the hard ground. He looked up at Birdie, devastated. "Bitch!"

"You called?"

"Oh that's it." The German's eyes narrowed, purple undertones shining through mischievously. A little bit of his tongue poked out of his mouth, and he growled, "Go for the ankles!" Before pouncing, taking Birdie's legs with him. She fell with a yelp, once again almost on top of Gilbert. But the man managed to slide away, standing faster than she fell. He looked down triumphantly, a broad smile upon his lips.

Birdie glared up at him, and was about to give him a piece of her mind, when hot, shrill light flashed above. A few seconds later, the sound of a thousand stampeding horses paraded through the air.

At last, small drops of pure water fell. One landed precisely on Gilbert's nose. He stared at it for a while, trying to figure out exactly what...

A scream pierced the air, as a man backtracked madly. And when that didn't work, Gilbert shook his head wildly, before taking off at a full sprint. Which was fast.

Full cheeks paled, and a melodic voice whispered, "oh no." It was far worse than she had thought. Birdie leaped off the ground, running after Gilbert, catching him when he nearly fell.

Another crack sounded, and the boy shrieked again.

"Hey, hey! What's wrong?" Birdie asked, struggling to get a good look at the other's face. He was hiding it, he had to, no one could see his fear.

Finally, Birdie resorted to grabbing Gilbert's jaw, forcing him to look at her. Tiny smeared tears marred the contorted face of his, as he sobbed through clenched teeth. "They'll do it again, they'll do it again!"

"What? Who, who will do what a-" Birdie froze, her mental tick tick tick having been rudely interrupted by the sobering truth. "Christ." She pulled him into a tight hug, walking them both back to a spot where the rain could not haunt them.

After most of the water works had passed, Gilbert whimpered something quietly in his native tongue.

Birdie scrunched her brow, it had been years since he'd spoken German. "What was that?"

"I don't think I like being special." He repeated, in English.

Eyes closed in silent despair, and a prayer was released from a silent mouth. Gilbert tightly clung to Birdie. He really needed someone to hold onto, someone who would listen to him. He babbled in German, for about an hour, the one who was listening understood hardly any of it. When it seemed the grateful hugger's mental stability was finally back at a normal level, she smirked. "That's hot."

"Huh?" Gilbert broke off, his red eyes opened in surprise.

"You. Speaking German. That's hot."

A deep, genuine laugh built up in his chest, and Gilbert cackled, looking back up at Birdie with bright eyes. "All of me is hot."

...

It is amazing...

"You've gone too far!" Birdie raged in a soft tone.

What you can change...

"As have you! Besides, he can remember none of it. It may shine through in some situations, but it is supposed to."

Through a simple procedure...

"That... That is none of your concern. Don't give me that shit, either! I don't care if he can't remember it, he isn't stupid! He knows something isn't right. It effects him horribly." She returned, recovering from the ankle biting stutter.

Just by removing...

"But he is our concern, and you have intertwined yourself with him, therefore it is ours to be concerned about."

A simple mental barrier...

"Don't change the subject, chubby cheeks!" Birdie hissed, hitting it where it hurts.

You can reveal...

"Was there even a subject to begin with?"

One's true self...

"Yes, there was. You know what you've done to him. And you know you have what you want. So stop." The hands resting on the fine wooden desk were creased white in some places, and if you listened closely, you could hear wood being strained.

I personally believe...

"... He could be better, you know."

That we all...

"Is that what you want? Perfection? Well, before you set off to achieve that, ask yourself, at what cost does perfection come?" The harpy's words trilled through the air, lighter than the feathers that dotted her back.

Hold high opinions of ourselves...

"... No."

It is only until...

"No?"

Others come into play...

"I see your point. I will... Talk to the others. You have... He has my apologies."

That we lose ourselves.

...

For those who are curious, it is not obvious when Gilbert openly returned feelings for Birdie. It was clear that, once he revealed these feelings, he adored Birdie's fierce attitude, and her outgoing-outstanding, borderline intrusive, behaviors. One would assume the feelings had always existed, tucked away in some unopened compartment, that one discovered the key to, and promptly unlocked. Perhaps it was the same compartment that his true self was trapped in, shoved inside long ago by the careless, and left to rot. It is a blessing that someone managed to crack the safe, reaching the riches within. No one deserves to live under a veil, without a true understanding of who they are themselves. For, if one does not know themselves, how can they know others?... But I digress, we have more to go through...

...

"What would you call us?"

"What?"

"You know... Us."

"OH."

"Well?"

"Uh... A cou-... Fian-... Fuck buddies."

It was since reported that Gilbert was not seen for a week after, and when found, he was lying face down in a ditch, with a bloodied nose and broken pride. He has since recovered.

...

Gilbert was released from his daily "therapy" soon after. He didn't know why, but an inexplicable whirl of happiness flew through him. He was sent back, back to training to complete the classes he had worked on a year or two previous. That was another couple of years, thrown neatly under the oncoming bus.

And when he finished that (and one more wild party), it was back to the old grind.

...

When Gilbert arrived back at the forbidding compound, he was nearly smothered by Birdie. This woman needed to learn personal space. Then again-

"Gilbert."

"What?"

"That's my left boob."

"Nu-uh, that's your heart, you are obviously confused. A very romantic gesture, this."

After that encounter, and Gilbert had settled into his room, things... Returned mostly to normal.

This new therapy, like the last one, could not be recalled after a session. It was a blank spot in the library of memories, a stolen book never to be replaced. It wasn't nearly as tortuous, either. I cannot recall the name, nor do I want to, personally, but I do know various details, and how it worked.

This method focused on reducing stress, perhaps improving overall mental health, and most importantly, reducing the negative reaction to pain. (Some other effects may occur, depending on the subject.) By making one learn to replace the pain with other feelings, or nullify it, essentially.

To summarize the bare technique, it goes like this: You bring someone to the very edge, they are so weak and powerless, you could do anything you wanted to them. But, you choose to release them, free them from their troubles, and eventually the sensation of pain is loosely associated with good things to come. It does not work in all situations, but results tend to be good otherwise.

From here until the beginnings of transfusion, nothing of interest occurred, truly. This therapy didn't seem to have such a harsh effect on Gilbert. He and Birdie went about their days as nearly normal people.

All good things come to an end, of course, but we tend to not focus on that detail.

...

...  
Dull thumps, like snare drums, rang out. Two fast feet pounded lightly on the floor, and quick breath was drawn. A lanky figure practically flew through the intricate halls, before abruptly halting at one door. A crinkled smile betrayed bright eyes.  
The door did not squeak as it was pushed open, dull light flooding the room in which the runner stepped into.  
Birdie sighed, pleased to see her... Fuck buddy, as he put it, sound asleep. And by that, she meant sprawled across the bed looking more like a tragic murder victim than a man who slept in awkward ways.  
Her feet slipped across the ground much softer than before, as the siren crossed the room to the unsuspecting drooler. A cool hand slipped through silver hair, lungs took in lovely scents.  
As creepy as it may be, she always enjoyed watching Gilbert sleep. He looked at peace with the world for once. Which was pretty damn adorable. Birdie leaned in, her deep eyes narrowed. Her nose gently collided with his, and she nearly squeaked. Always, had she wanted to do that, but without the correct context was she denied.  
As a small good bye, the forever fascinated tongue slipped out of her mouth, under his chin, and maybe into the corner of his mouth as she pulled away. The one receiving this goodbye squirmed, and uttered a noise comparable to a giggle.  
"Kinky bastard." Birdie muttered ironically as she exited the room, not feeling any more justified in her actions.

The man cursed with albinism walked with fowl intent towards a certain office. He slammed open the door, causing a man in white to merely glared, his body language speaking for him. The white coat stuttered, unsure of what to say.  
"She's gone." Gilbert hinted after a few minute's worth of awkward silence and exchanged stares.  
"... Oh." A hand slid over a stressed temple, and a man sighed in relief. "Yes. She, ah... She resigned yesterday. I'm guessing she did not tell you."  
"Great work Detective, I wonder when you'll receive your badge?" The now distressed Gilbert snarled with an intense tone, yet quiet voice. "Why did she leave, and not tell me?"  
A white coat was lifted in a shrug. "No clue. Although I can guess it was because she had to, and did not want to trouble you. I'm surprised she hadn't left sooner, honestly."  
"... What?"  
"Ah, well, you see, she was once an intern for the office you originally came from. We only realized what she was after your... Initial encounter. And we politely asked that she leave. Of course, she refused. And who were we to say no? She was reliable, always willing to do her job, and eventually... She seemed to help you. At first, she really got under your skin, but then one day you two seemed to really hit it off."  
Gilbert huffed, a dull red color singeing his cheeks.  
"Sorry, we kind of see everything."  
After the moment of, quote unquote, "un-awesomeness" had passed, Gilbert nodded. "Still doesn't answer my question, though."  
"Oh!" The white coat held up a finger in an almost comical way. "We all have our duties elsewhere, you know. The fact that the front line is approaching our facility is also concerning, she perhaps fled to save herself. Or maybe," dramatic pause, "She knew better than to stay."  
"I don't quite understand that cryptic idiocy, think you could clear it up for me?" Gilbert growled, ignoring himself.  
"I'm afraid I can't." Gilbert groaned in frustration at the response, but the doctor in front of him had something else to say. "I do have a question for you, though."  
"And what's that?"  
"Why do you love things that cause you such pain?" An innocent tilt of the head added emphasis to the hidden attack in the words.  
Gilbert left the room, feeling no better than when he entered. It can be difficult to lie to oneself, but it looked like Gilbert was becoming a professional.

And so it begins. The grandeur of Transfusion. A marvelous process, if I do say so myself.  
What better blood to start off with than that of a Fire Drake and Phoenix combined? It would grant unfathomable fire abilities, and for a kingdom that rested in hot climates, it was perfectly suited for the subject. The substances had been of utter difficulty to gather, and then cultivate, but here they were, ready to be administered...  
A white haired head softly thudded against a stiff wooden table. Already, excited adrenaline trickled into his veins, in anticipation for what was to come. Despite his training, those many years all for this one moment, a nervousness still existed within his mind.  
The whir of a blade unveiled jerked the man to his senses. "This may hurt." He was warned.  
A quick nod of the head was the signal to go forth, do your worst.  
A cool, slick metal precisely ran through delicate skin. Blood gushed from the wound, but not so drastically that it was concerning. A shiver ran down a spine, a mouth muttered, "Christ..."  
A medium sized bag of dark blood was retrieved, and ever so carefully opened. The contents were drained in an almost painstaking way, so slow did it flow.

Gilbert gazed around the dim room, lit only by a few solitary candles. He hummed to himself, taking a seat on the floor. There wasn't much else to do, so he waited. Out of the dark, dank blue, a wave of immense heat hit him. He only registered that he had fallen when his cheek smacked the hard stone floor, and by then, he was already long gone.  
When he awoke, a concerning thought crossed his mind. He felt like he was melting. With good reason: he was actually on fire. Not to mention that two nearly grotesque wings had grown from his back, and his spine had elongated into an equally estranged tail. The appendages were obviously reptilian, and based upon a previously known detail, could be linked to the Drake's blood with certainty. It was an outcome that some doctors had predicted. What made these new parts particularly striking, however, were the streaks of blazing feathers. The tail had feathers lining the sides and top, diminishing until completely gone as the tail went on, and the topsides of the wings were completely covered in feathers, looking like a normal bird's wing (if a normal bird's wing was ablaze), while the dull bloody red underside was comparable to a bat's wing, ignoring the feathers that poked out from the other side.  
The doctors were quite shocked by this outcome. It appeared that the DNA of both bloods had combined, neither gene being more dominant than another, therefore creating a mutation.  
Back to the subject of Gilbert being on fire. He did not cry out, although his mouth awkwardly open as if to, only stopping when it realized that the fire was not actually causing him any pain. It was merely there, simply existing. The blazing man looked around trying to see if anyone was near to offer him advice on exactly what to do about his predicament. When, abruptly, Gilbert exploded, into a small pile of neat ashes.  
The doctors watching gasped, groaned, or looked away in defeat. They had prepared for every possibility other than the man miraculously bursting into a pile of nothing. Nor had they prepared for the pile of ashes to reanimate just as quickly.  
Gilbert stood shakily, brushing off the left over ash from his skin. An acrid scent caught his attention, and he turned to face it, only to be met with newfound appendages vanishing into clouds of smoke.  
"... That was fun, actually."

Learning how to use your fire abilities is not an easy thing to do. Especially when you continue to burst into small piles of ash, only to erupt back out of them a few moments later. Or when your extra limbs suddenly melt off of your body. It definitely made the whole process of figuring out what you could much more difficult. But over the period of a few months, Gilbert was able to control how often he suddenly imploded, and had discovered many of his newfound abilities. Not all, but most.  
After the doctors were sure that he was well and ready, the next transfusion was put into place...

The life force of some sort of shadow creature was collected, and mixed with a sample of Gilbert's blood. This was because the powers they wanted derived was most commonly found in a certain creature (now extinct, but the ability is not), and this creature did not have such a thing as blood. It did have a bodily fluid that would suffice as such, and so, as previously stated, a small amount was obtained and mixed with a larger sample of the host's own blood. The substance quickly infiltrated and dominated the cells, altering them, changing them into an odd mutation that displayed wicked powers.  
It was carefully collected, and the process from the previous transfusion was repeated, the mixed blood being drained into Gilbert's body.

The man was once more tightly shut in the damp, stone room. "Alright, love you guys too." He said with a sarcastic grin as the door slammed to a close.  
An odd sensation holed itself up in the back of his head, it felt similar to how white-noise sounds. In preparation for last times events repeated, he laid down on the floor, running a bored hand over cracks and crevices. Slowly, a blank feeling creeped over his body, almost as if it were falling asleep without him. That constant drum in his chest, it began to slow. Slow, slow, until it stopped. A deep darkness washed over reality.  
When he came to, his face was no longer resting against the floor, but was leaned upon a wall. Shaky legs pushed him upwards, only to collide with a sill above him, eliciting a sharp string of curses. After recovering from the incident, Gilbert pushed away from the wall, standing while also rubbing his sore head. To his surprise, he was facing the window from which the doctors observed him. The door to his left was also slightly ajar. A shaken voice called out from behind it.  
"Y-You oka-kay G-G-..." The sentence could not be finished.  
"Yeah... why wouldn't I be? I'm not dead and unaware of it again, am I? Damn it, every time..." Gilbert asked, snapping his fingers after the third sentence.  
"..." No reply, the door said.  
Two red eyes were lifted in an unaware shrug, and Gilbert headed to the door across the room. Only to have it slammed in his face. He nearly got his fingers crushed in the frame of the door.  
Whipping the valued digits back, the offended man exclaimed, "what the hell?! Just exactly what the fuck is going on here, that's what I would like to know."  
It would be awhile, almost an hour before he got his answer.

It turns out, when Gilbert's own consciousness faded, a "new" one came to replace it. This supposed "new" thing seemed to have a sick sense of humor (then again, so does Gilbert), it made Gilbert appear completely dead. For a solid ten hours, he did not move so much as an inch. And then, he sat stark upright. You could say everyone observing let out a held breath of relief, but when that well known kid in the other room was suddenly pressed up against the glass, eyes black and large as the abyss, with odd white pupils, you better believe that several doctors screamed shrilly. The seemingly possessed body slumped back down to the ground, and the doctors were about to go investigate, dark tendrils crept through the walls, one even snaking around a doctor's ankle. Deep rumbling in an unfamiliar language (Gilbert's native tongue) sounded quietly throughout the room, then silence, unearthly stillness ruled.

The strange happenings were explained to Gilbert, and instead of having a proper reaction, he responded with, "sounds like something I would do, actually! Kudos to you, demon, for properly possessing me!"  
It is speculated that his "kind" words worked on whatever force had taken him over that day, as it has not happened since.  
Upon being given a deeply concerned, if not suspicious, look, Gilbert shrugged and smiled stupidly. "I just like to fuck with people, ya know?"  
"..." Sigh. "Yes, Gilbert, we know all too well..."

In case you did not know, this was all happening as the Great War had begun to grow more heated.  
The whole program involving Gilbert was started to combat an enemy force so cruel and brutal, they had not a single moral among their minds, it seemed. And because of this, Gilbert's own kingdom was getting its ass kicked rather brutally. Of course, they did not expect him to simply take on an entire army single handedly, but rather act as some sort of unspoken symbol of hope.

...  
It was four years later that he was allowed to finally play his part, at around twenty five years of age.

Others may have heard the sounds of war, but Gilbert heard the most gorgeous melody he ever could have imagined. It was divine, the thrum of hooves against hard rock, canon fire blasts that shake the world, arrows dazzling through the air, shouts and yells of victory or defeat. It all worked together, to create a glorious flow like no other.  
His squad and the others around it, they were to retake a lost town. It was an excellent area, strategic military wise, but it also held many citizens within. No one knew if anyone was alive at this point, chances dwindled with every day, and Gilbert had no intention of letting anyone else die at the hands of the brutal enemy.  
He had been through many a battle before, he had learned exactly how horrifying war was. But war, while it may destroy people, it also built them. Gilbert's life had been built upon and pledged to war. There was no escaping. He wasn't necessarily upset by that, either. He had come to love the thrill of the fight, feeling the triumph as he tore his own sword through another, or even when he had to yank an arrow out of his damaged shoulder.  
As for his special abilities, he was forbidden to use them around comrades. People from his kingdom were much less accepting of those different from themselves. So, he would go solo, a lone wolf hunting his prey. Many enemy camps were decimated at his fiery hands, nothing left in his wake except for ashen scraps and bloodied bodies. At some points, Gilbert was truly an equalizer, a turning point in the war. He could have even been what won the war. Sadly, rightfully, this war of rich men had no winner.  
On this day of beautiful music, and dark clouds, Gilbert was one of the first to breach the tall, thick stone walls of the city. He did this in secret, simply passing through them as if they did not exist.  
When he entered the city, he was shocked to find it not nearly as in ruin as he expected it to be.  
The chain mail hanging from his chest rattled as Gilbert tore through relatively empty yet intact streets, he had one objective: to lower the gates. He reached the front gates, and hacked through the large chain keeping the bridge up.  
The old structure fell heavily, landing solidly on the stone of the opposite shore with out care. The enemy forces on the other side of the gate had been either defeated or driven away, and Gilbert smirked. This had been much easier than previously thought.  
His comrades looked around, as shocked as he when first observing the town. It was especially pleasing that the cathedral, a very decadent and large building, still stood tall and proud, without so much as a single nick on a single brick.  
A sudden cry from a little bit away caught their attention. A woman, and a man... No, not just a man, a soldier from the opposing side, stood. The lady had cried out, with every right to do so, as a dagger was lodged in her side, dark blood dripping form the wound, leaking out whatever hope she had of surviving the conflict.  
Now, this irked Gilbert something fierce. He had a code about fighting, especially killing. Never engage someone unless they are adequately able to fight back, first engage you, or are assholes who really deserve a nice foot up the ass. So, an act such as killing an innocent woman on the streets caused a red haze to blur his vision.  
"You fools have been lulled into a sense of security, now you shall face the consequences!" The murderous soldier hollered, right as an arrow struck him solidly in the throat. He fell with a thud, already long gone.  
The man's words rang true, however. Crackling and calling paired together for a duet, as the bridge connecting the men to the other side was suddenly alight, and burning rapidly. The dry wood did not take its sweet time burning and shattering, falling into the deep murky water below. The gap was much too far to ever even hope to leap across.  
The soldiers were trapped, like a baited animal in an wire cage. Furious at their own stupidity, and sure of their own death because of it.  
Doors were thrown open. Soldiers of the opposite team stepped out of many houses, purposely having spread blood on their armor. Whoever lived in a house that one of the men exited was surely dead.  
After a quick staring, glaring contest, the two sides went off on each other. The hungry melody of war danced through the air once more.  
Gilbert was enjoying his time, dodging blows then darting in for the kill, dashing around foes then slitting their muscles and tendons, cackling as they fell in agony. However, it became sorely obvious that his side was not winning. He witnessed a close friend being cut down by two men, and struggled to hold back a wail.  
A rough shove jerked Gilbert back to reality. He, and the few remaining, were being shoved towards the gaping wound in the wall where the draw bridge once was. The edges were still smoldering, and below, ravenous crocodiles greedily snapped apart the lost bodies of the fallen.  
"One final goodbye," a newly appointed announcer for the other side declared. "Before we send all of you rats to where you belong."  
"Excuse me!" Gilbert snarled back. "But I nor the men beside me are mirrors. And if you mean up your mother's ass, then I'll pass."  
A kick to the jaw left him stunned and reeling, almost over the edge if it weren't for one of his now snickering companions making sure he didn't fall to his doom.  
"Way to show them who's better at insults." His savior chuckled.  
"Yeah," Gilbert's tone changed back into a yell. "They had better be glad this was not a battle of the wits, because it appears they came unarmed!"  
"Silence!" A harsh voice commanded.  
"As you wish, lord Asstown." Gilbert responded quietly, and the man next to him hand to clamp a firm hand over his mouth.  
"Because it seems you rats want a bit of a comedy show today, we decided to provide one. Enjoy." The devastating, sour note of the last word shook the men to the core. It was clear he had something far from humorous in store.  
Children, no older than the age of ten, some as young as two, were herded like sheep by ravenous wolves, front and center to the onlooking, powerless soldiers. They were probably from the houses invaded by the soldiers. Dried tear streaks shone on their cheeks, they all stumbled and wailed, being struck back into silence. When their final destination was reached, a man appeared form the shadows behind them, head held low.  
He had gorgeous wings like that of an owls, quiet violet eyes, and a strong yet gentle build. He looked angelic, practically glowing in the dull light of the overcast day. There was only one thing betraying his heavenly appearance: a dull kukri, complete with dried blood from previous slaughters.  
A new fury awakened inside of the German, slowly building pressure like magma below the surface of the Earth.  
Gilbert's eyes locked with his opponent's, and for a moment, even time had to do a double take. This man, this bloody angel who was about to mercilessly murder many children in front of a hostage audience, wrapped his pure wings around the small bodies, pulling them close in a desperate hug. Those saturated eyes begged forgiveness, and silent tears fell in mourning. His men did not notice, for they did not look his way. They were staring at the small collection of stunned silent soldiers watching this act with stone faces.  
The angel seeking redemption backed off from the children, gently pushing them off of him, squeezing their small hands to reassure them that all would be well, soon.  
Right as the first child was selected without prejudice, her small throat suddenly met with a blade, a sound like none other rang out.  
It was metallic, like that of canon fire, but not nearly as immense. It held power in its sharp crack, rippling through the air. Someone had a gun.  
While the source was never determined, the target was clear. The angel's head jerked to the side violently, striking eyes rolling back, and blood sprayed from his bullet wound. He was dead before he hit the ground.  
By this time, Gilbert had taken several strides forward, towards the screaming children. A man rushed over to stop him, and right as the attacker was about to drive his blade into his target, Gilbert caught the cold steel in his bare hand, letting the sword sink into his skin. The blade was thrown away viciously, a new hunger alight within the powerful man. Gilbert's hand wrapped around his assailant's wrist, and the man, after an unsure moment, burst into flame. He was not the only one to scream at this unforeseen turn of events, as even men from Gilbert's own side shrieked in terror at his sorcery.  
He was not about to stop now.  
The volcano within Gilbert erupted, and he felt fire blast through his veins. He tilted his head back, and out roared a great torrent of fire. The children shrieked again, and Gilbert turned to face the men on his side, motioning them to get the kids and their own asses outta there. Not knowing what else to do, they rushed forth, gathering up the younglings and taking off towards the back wall of the city.  
Meanwhile, the man in command of the offenders growled deeply at the new developments. Not only was one of his strongest down, but a freak had shown his arrogant little face. He knew, deep down, there was no way in hell they would be the winners, not that day. He took off, leaving to meet his fate at the hand of the general, preferring to die by his hand for abandonment than by some lowly brat's blaze.  
Now fully alight, Gilbert began muttering odds and ends in German, cursing his enemies for their pitiful crimes. Most of them hadn't moved since his first attack, but now they were beginning to catch on. Some stumbled back, others just stared with blank, already dead eyes. And one, two, three audacious men charged forwards, ready to clash head on, only to be stopped right as their swords were about to pierce thin armor.  
"I commend your bravery." Gilbert hissed, drawing the men closer. Dark, barely translucent snares seemed to have sprung from the soles of his feet, his flame suddenly dying away. The brave souls were caught, wrapped in the unholy tendrils, like fat rabbits caught by a boa constrictor.  
The intensity of his stare only increased as darker tones in his red eyes grew. The men squirmed furiously, desperate to flee.  
The condemned souls were tossed carelessly to the ground, and from behind them a true terror revealed itself.  
It was a dragon of flame, built upon one man, yet towering even over the cathedral. From its maw shot fire, and its claws ripped and tore through countless foe. There was no room for mercy, not anymore.  
Gotta be true to who you are, after all.

At the end of it all, the front end of the town was decimated. Ash flowed freely through the wind, smoke dominated the skies. Gilbert was left, standing amidst it all, when his squad returned. They had brought with them, more towns people, who were not slaughtered like the less fortunate.  
With the fortunate ones, a gift had been brought, laid at Gilbert's feet.  
"For you." Said the gifter, looking at the floor.  
Gilbert peered down at the item at his feet, and soon figured out that what was by on the ground was no item. It was a child, an infant, no older than a month.  
"Uh." The fighter blinked a few times in confusion, his mouth moving as if to form words, but his lungs supplying no air to do so. "That is a baby." He managed, looking up for confirmation.  
"Yes." The woman nodded. "A sacrifice to the fire demon for protecting us."  
And for just a moment, Gilbert looked away from the crowd, just staring at nothing in disbelief at the pure nonsense that had just been uttered. Coincidentally, he noticed that the angel's dead body was no longer there, not a trace of its existence of any sort.  
"Alright, because of my humorous nature, I will find this charming, if not amusing. Flattering, almost." Gilbert leaned down, picking up the kid and pushing past the lady who had given him the sacrificial child, she obviously was not suited for parent hood, or maybe she just didn't want the child. On his way to picking a proper parent, he noticed the child's odd bluish-purple eyes, along with wavy blond hair. "Lucky lil shit." He muttered to the tiny person, who sneezed in return.  
Gilbert finally decided on handing the child over to a older woman, who glanced up at him in shock and fear. After a small explanation, she hesitantly took the infant, not knowing what else to do.  
"Alright..." The 'Fire Demon' hung his head, scratching the back of his neck out of frustratio. "No more sacrificing children. Or else I will come back here and fuck more shit up. Got that?"  
Silence.  
"Good. Anyway, I'm gonna leave now. Don't worry, I'll be sending some people over to save your sorry asses, but until then you should be fine. Yeah. You can bet you won't ever see me again." That was his final goodbye, as Gilbert spread his wings and took to the sky, not looking back once.  
That was his final, true battle. It was nearing the end of the war, with only about twenty years remaining in the ridiculous conflict. It was nearly over, and for that, all were grateful.

Gilbert arrived at his broken compound of a home with a sarcastic salute, and a bitter smile. He strutted past the front desk, signaling his need for a few cold ones.  
After impressively downing those few alcoholic beverages, he was forced to explain exactly what had gone down, an explanation for his odd behavior. The German gladly explained, a slurry of sarcasm, anger, and apathy all seasoning his voice.  
It was quickly decided that Gilbert was no longer allowed out on missions with what were considered 'normal' people. The secrecy about his existence, or at least what he could do, was safely guarded, and now it was out. Gilbert was about to disappear off the face of the planet, for most, anyway.

In this time period, much happened. More DNA was cultivated, added. It was all done in haste, not much time was left for the compound, it seemed. That assumption was correct, as a month after the building was left to rot, the front line moved up, and over, swallowing the familiar land scape in the horrors of war.  
And as much as he didn't like it, Gilbert had to lie low, move like a snake through thin grass. People were angry, angry that he may exist. It was a sick prejudice, one I do not understand. How could someone save the lives of so many, yet still be viewed as a monstrosity? I suppose that is just the way of the world.

And this is where his story connects to my own. I was New. I was also placed on his small, protected squad, for my abilities and usefulness.  
He was quite the interesting man. Whimsical, constantly cracking jokes, seemingly lazy, but at any second he could turn into the hardest working, most serious man I had ever known. Not to mention his excellence in strategy and fighting in general. Quite stunning, this little project they had constructed.  
... Heh, to me, he has lost all of his humanity, no longer a person, but a simple science experiment gone right. How odd.

This is where his story ends, it connects to what I started with, this is all I know... For after the life finally drained from his eyes, me and the men that were some how alive took his body, and dumped it in a small river, very near our position. There were no prayers, no bowed heads. Only tossing a wronged body into the black unknown of the deep, running river.  
We walked back wordlessly. Back to where, I'm not sure. It was not from whence we came. I do believe, that at the end of that war, we were as dead to them as we were to ourselves. We were fine with that.

["... That is all I have to say." A sniff, cough to replace words of damnation.]  
["Impressive, old man. Really. Anyway..." The black suit stretched luxuriously, glad that the tiresome story was finally done. "I do believe I owe you something? Out in the hall, the room next to this one, to the right. You'll get what you were promised."]  
[The grateful veteran nodded feebly, and as he stood, he could hear his bones creak. A wave of peace flooded him, he felt as if some heavy weight had been lifted from his tired shoulders. No time was wasted making it to the other room. It was dark... A rough hand pushed him from behind. He fell to his knees, the door slammed shut behind his back. Frantic eyes darted around the black expanse. But this was what he had wanted all along, wasn't it...? Cold metal rubbed against his temple. Yes, this was it. All he had ever wanted had been justice, really. A low growl from the other side of the room caused him to jump, and look up. He was met with sinister red eyes, piercing him like a sword through his chest. He expected something to happen... It seemed as though time had slowed, however. The intensity of the red eyes never lessened, but the voice belonging to them was softer, more considerate than the judgmental orbs above. "It's okay, ya crazy old man."]

[a trigger was pulled, a forgiven body fell to the floor. An uncaring black suit exited the room, permitting anything within to be incinerated. A low chuckle rang out, and red eyes dissipated, leaving an old soul to rest.]

[... ]  
[Case End]

...

{surely, you did not think it was over?!}  
**Epilogue**  
When Gilbert woke up, he felt strange. Not just strange... Wet. No, no, he was... Well gag me with a spoon, he was underwater. How nice.  
After the few seconds it took the hydrophobic man to realize that he was amid his worst fear, panic took over, pushing full steam ahead. That is, if full steam ahead means idiotic flailing and underwater screaming, getting no one anywhere at all.  
Thankfully for Gilbert, a strong hand plunged beneath the surface, yanking him above the water.  
Gilbert sputtered, clawing at the air as if to climb some astral ladder and ascend to some religion promised paradise. He was tossed to the ground, coughing up water like a loser, until finally his vision cleared enough for him to process who had saved him from the horrid fate.  
And I'll be damned if it wasn't the man who had just killed him (who Gilbert killed in return) just an hour previous.  
I'll be damned again if the angel, who goes by the name of Arkadi, didn't try to kill Gilbert again.  
Gloved hands wrapped around Gilbert's neck, and lethal pressure was applied. Gilbert sputtered for just a moment, before staring up at the one who was currently strangling him, with very wide eyes. His hands scratched at the ones around his neck, with very little effect.  
Arkadi was staring back down at Gilbert, expression oddly remorseful, yet tinged with contempt. He was muttering something in Russian, something that sounded like an apology.  
As the world started going shaky and black, Gilbert wondered exactly what was up with his current killer. He never seemed to want to do anything he did, and yet, he did it without hesitation.  
Right as life was about to leave his body for the second time, a loud shot rang out, and the angel instantly released him, looking around with almost panicked speed.  
Gilbert convulsed, gasping in air. His throat ached something fierce, but he ignored that. His lean body flipped over naturally, allowing him orientate himself better.  
Arkadi, after not hearing any follow up shots, turned his attention back to Gilbert. He seemed infuriated now, although Gilbert had no idea why.  
"You are not supposed to be alive." The growl slithered out of the angel's mouth, with enough heat to spark a fire. It was clear, as he approached, that he intended to kick Gilbert's head right off of his shoulders.  
His target was not a fan of that, and Gilbert crawled backwards as fast as his weakened body would allow. This was a futile, instinctive move, that, for some reason, caused Arkadi to only become more irritated.  
It was a sudden thought that tossed the defender out of his terror. Gilbert was not completely powerless, not quite. He continued to back peddle, hoping the movement of his body would be enough to divert attention from the hardly visible tendril that had sprung from his back. And it did.  
Arkadi was just about to kick the lights out of the annoying, should-be-dead person before him, but an unexpected shove stopped him. He tumbled back, losing balance. The large man stunned for a few moments, confused as to what had knocked him over. Gilbert took complete advantage of the pause, jumping up from his vulnerable position.  
The deathly angel stood, staring at Gilbert. It was quite unsettling for the one being stared at, as he was expecting the starer to suddenly stab him or something.  
No, instead, Arkadi turned away, looking at the floor. "... Why are you alive?" He questioned softly.  
"I could ask you the same!" Gilbert panted back, nearly doubled over, as his lungs still had not fully recovered.  
"Touché." Arkadi nodded. "I will answer for you, then. We are alive for the same reason: we cannot be killed, sadly."  
Disbelieving eyes gaped at the angel's back, and Gilbert shook his head.  
"I'm afraid it's true. We should both be dead, yes? But we are not. I watched your kind friends toss you in the river after you had been stabbed straight through, you severed my own spine yourself. There is no explanation of it, it simply is." A soft sigh escaped soft lips.  
"Are you into poetry, or something?" Gilbert asked. When he saw back muscles go rigid, he quickly changed the subject. "Ah, uh, if you know I can't die, why did you try to kill me just then?"  
Arkadi chuckled, a bitter, dry sound. "To save you the trouble." He jumped as another gun fired, and his immense wings began to prepare for flight. "I suggest you do not return. It will be best for the both of us." Then, he was gone, lost to the sky.  
"What a dick." Gilbert commented.

*Five years later*

The German experiment never returned. He was tired of fighting, for the moment, as the earth shattering news of his immortality came crashing down upon him. That, and the rude angel who had saved his sorry ass, then almost killed him again, had been captured by his side, rumor said. No way was he about to be the prince saving the princess, not this time. Rather, he spent his time thinking. Traveling. Trying to understand the world again, the world he had not known for so many years. It was a rough, rocky road, one that led him to the city he once destroyed as a massive possessed fire dragon thing. Which Gilbert would never let slide, because that shit was the most awesome thing on record, ever.  
Within that town, a long forgotten face still resided. May I, and Gilbert, just say that a few years does a person some good. Damn, they were already cute in the first place, but this? It was just too much. Too adorable, Gilbert hadn't seen someone so dicking cute in quite some time. Yeah, probably since he last looked in a mirror...  
Ah, yes, it was decided, then. Gilbert's new mission. Getting this cutie to admire Gilbert's awesomeness in the same way that he appreciated their cuteness. A pretty linear, straight forward plan, couldn't be too difficult. Nah, not for someone as charming as Gilbert, no one could resist his sexiness and ... Where was he? Oh, yeah, getting some attention, that's right...

Mattieu led a simple life. Work was nice, and the town had since calmed down from the excitement of the war, which was only a faint memory in his mind anyway. It was sort of boring, but who was he to complain? He was but a simple city boy, with no outstanding qualities, it seemed.  
One man saw past that, however. He was a new comer to the town, his striking hair and eyes making him an instant curiosity. Mattieu was one of the first to spot him, shy eyes being met with bold ones. It was quite odd, as it seemed the man did not see through him as others often did. The few seconds of direct eye contact did make Matthieu's heart flutter, not that he spent any time contemplating why.  
Gilbert knew exactly what he was doing, entering the town unwarranted and unknown. Drawing intrigue upon himself, allowing others to become familiar with his presence, and raising his understanding of the one he was after, all without appearing too creepy. It was a well thought out scheme, and he was quite proud of himself for thinking it up. Although, when wasn't he proud of himself?  
Mattieu continued to spot Gilbert over the course of a couple of weeks. It wasn't too frequent to be considered... Stalker-ish, but often enough to where Mattieu could figure out something was up. He didn't know what, and the blond planned to find out.  
Mattieu had always had this strange... Ability. He never told anyone, and with good reason. In this kingdom, those with special skills were shunned, outcast, and sometimes even burned at the stake, or sunk to the bottom of a lake. Most of the time, anyway. Regardless, he wasn't about to take any chances, so he kept it to himself.  
Back to the original topic. Mattieu could 'see' things. Things he shouldn't be able to see, things that were either behind walls, far away, or behind him. He could place his vision pretty much anywhere he wanted, as long as it wasn't too far away. He often used it to his advantage, avoiding situations and confrontations among other things. Now, however, he was using his skill to spy on Gilbert just as much as Gilbert was spying on him. It wasn't really gaining him any information as to why Gilbert was even in the town, or why he was bothering with Mattieu, but the blond did it anyway. Persistence pays off, right? Sure!  
It was the third week since the strange man's arrival, and Mattieu was happily serving various pastries and breads at the small bakery he worked at. He enjoyed his job, loving to prepare foods and make people smile. It was also a relatively quiet job, and a low stress environment, just how he liked it.  
An hour before closing time, the shop was empty, save for the goods and Mattieu. He was quietly humming a tune, sweeping up flour that had spilled on the floor earlier.  
A sudden itch in the back of his skull alerted him to another's presence, and the blond set the broom against the wall, turning around without haste. Whoever it was, they weren't quite there yet.  
Who else would walk through the door, but Gilbert. The confidence in his gait never fled him, it seemed, and that only added another question to Mattieu's list.  
"Bread." The German observed with a nod. "Awesome." The word he used just there, it was not so often used for anything other than himself. It was one of the highest compliments Gilbert was able to give, really.  
"Ah, yes." Mattieu replied, voice soft. It always was. "Would you, uh, like some bread?" He swept his hand through wavy golden hair, brushing it out of his face.  
"Hell yes." A chuckle escaped Gilbert, his fiendish eyes alight with amusement. Mostly because of his own words, he was a true literary master.  
There was a moment of awkward silence, and Mattieu squirmed under the other's gaze. It held a strange heat, one you could compare to a blazing flame. He was waiting for Gilbert to specify what kind of bread he wanted, and for some reason, he had an issue with voicing this. Finally, words formed. "The kind? W-what kind of bread, th-that is."  
The unexplained silence had unnerved Gilbert, although he wouldn't dare admit it. He was afraid he had scared the smaller man in front of him, somehow. And while he did enjoy intimidating others, that was not his current goal.  
"How about... A baguette?" Gilbert gestured to what he would normally refer to as a "Bread-Snake".  
Matthieu nodded, retrieving the loaf with gentle hands,wrapping it, then handing the bread over to Gilbert. In return, a few coins were dropped in his hand as payment.  
As the so very odd man left, Mattieu could have sworn he saw him wink in his direction. A slight tingle in his cheeks made Mattieu return to sweeping, however distracted from the task he was.

It was after the forth week, that Gilbert seemed to have vanished from the town. Mattieu could no longer sense his presence, and this was a little disheartening. To finally have someone take even slight interest in him was a thrilling feeling, and now that it was gone, a small sigh seemed to resound within him.  
Anyway, it was a Friday, and a couple of Mattieu's friends had decided it would be sweet if they all went out to the bar. Mattieu had gotten drunk before, but it was typically light, and rarely from beer. He honestly preferred the smooth sweetness of wine.  
Regardless, a night on the town sounded like fun, so he agreed.

Mattieu entered the bar, the scent of beer sloshing through the air burning his nose. He was trailing behind his friends. They were younger than him, and always seemed to get overly excited when doing things like going to bars. Mattieu personally thought it was silly, but he let them have their fun.  
He easily made his way through the bar, passing a rowdy bunch around a pool table. The blond plopped down on a bar stool, waiting for the barista patiently. In the meantime, he glanced around the crowded building, checking out the decor on the walls.  
A small tap on the arm caused him to jump, but he soon realized that it was just the barista. Mattieu turned around, grinning a charming grin, so that the lady awaiting his order giggled. The blond decided he would save the best for last, so he started out with a simple beer.  
And while waiting for that, radiant blue-tinged-purple pools searched the amassed group of people, for his friends. A light chuckle escaped him as he saw them flirting, already getting drunk. What a bunch of loons.  
"Your drink, sweetie." The barista chirped, setting down the glass before hurrying away to serve others.  
Mattieu chuckled again, as to why, he did not know. Laughing was nice, maybe that was why. He sipped the golden drink, shuddering for just a moment.  
It isn't clear how much time Mattieu spent staring off into space, continuing to drink his beer. Probably wasn't that long. What interrupted it, however, was sudden and quite unexpected: "hey."  
The one in question froze for a second, before turning to face the source of the words. His mouth hung open, just as shocked as he.  
Gilbert was sitting next to him, wearing a grin that said, 'you fuckin know it'.  
Matthieu blinked a few times, before smiling back, a small, unsure smile. He was taken aback by the other's sudden appearance, to say the least.  
Gilbert laughed loudly, and stood, walking away with the utmost confidence.  
Mattieu watched him leave in silence, almost daring to call after the odd man. Confidence faltered, and Mattieu decided to simply return to his drink. He then realized his glass was empty, and called for another.  
After the pint was replenished, Matthieu once again looked for his friends. Who were no where to be seen. He knew he wasn't their chaperone, but still. He couldn't help but feel responsibility for them.  
A loud crash interrupted his hazy thoughts. The source was immediately apparent: a bar fight. It seemed that Gilbert had hopped up on the pool table, just trying to start trouble. He was dancing around on the table like a pro, dodging pool sticks. However, a larger man suddenly yanked one of Gilbert's legs out from under him, intending to throw him out, but Gilbert had other plans. He latched onto the table, and when he was pulled, the table went with him, crashing to the ground. Glasses shattered around, and several people were soaked in their own drinks.  
The large man who had the brave German's leg in his grasp released him, wiping beer from his face and growling. Gilbert scurried away like a rat, but he had several particularly angry people after him.  
At this point, it was pretty much complete hysteria in the bar. Only a few people were quietly watching, small smirks on their faces. Matthieu was sitting without a smirk, he was simply watching in silence, drawing as little attention to himself a possible. He had finished the last beer, and like he had promised himself, he moved onto a small glass of wine.  
Gilbert dashed across the bar, narrowly escaping a chair thrown his way. It soon became clear that this place was more against him than with him, and the thought of making a run for it crossed his mind, but where was the fun in that?  
Nah, he had a better idea. The red eyed man abruptly spun around, facing his aggressors with a sneer. They were taken in slight surprise,freezing for a few seconds. Gilbert darted in, kicking one of them in the balls, and knocking heads with another who lunged forth.  
They both staggered back, shaking off the jarring buzz in their skulls. Gilbert cackled, and yelled, "this is what I call a party, boys! You should invite me more often!"  
The small lapse in attention was all the time it took, as a man so furious that he now resembled a tomato wrapped one of his hairy hands around Gilbert's throat.  
Matthieu gasped quietly, and looked down at his empty wine glass. This was probably about to be one of the dumbest, most aggressive acts he would ever commit, but... You only got one life, right?  
He tossed the cup from his hand, not daring to look and make sure it hit its mark.  
"Boy, you lucky I got the right mind not to strangle you." Tomato man snarled in Gilbert's face.  
Gilbert squirmed in his grip furiously, sputtering about bad breath.  
"Cuz if I see hide or hair a' you again, I'm gunna-" a small glass collided with his head. "What the hell was that?,"  
The large man instantly whipped around, staring directly at Matthieu. "Who the hell did that?! Did you see who did it, Paul? I swear I'll ring their necks, I will! It's just on thing after another today, and I'm sick of it."  
Gilbert sat on the floor, forgotten. He stared in wonder at Matthieu, who suddenly grew far more interesting. He was hiding in plain sight, cringing and flinching at every violent word said by Tomato man, and yet no one ever approached him, or even seemed to see him.  
A sudden swish through the air reminded Gilbert that not everyone had forgotten about him, and as the pool stick made contact with his head, he decided it was now time to leave.  
Thankfully, whoever decided to whack him in the back of the head was pissed drunk, and merely whiffed Gilbert. He easily recovered, and took off for the exit. A second of hesitation followed him, however, and Gilbert turned. It seemed the Tomato man was following his nose rather than his eyes now, and was starting to pin point Mattieu's location.  
Ya gotta hand it to him, tomato man is persistent.  
Gilbert smirked determinedly, and sped off towards Mattieu, shoving right past the angry brute searching for the kid. The German firmly grabbed Matthieu's wrist, flicked off the people of the bar, then took off sprinting and howling in laughter. The one who was being dragged behind him saw his life pass before his eyes, as a large hand struck right where he had been only a moment before.  
Cold air greeted the two as they made it out of the bar, and Gilbert doubled over, his laughing now sounding more like sharp exhales and inhales. Matthieu awkwardly chuckled, stumbling a bit, before leaning on Gilbert for support.  
"Can't hold your drink yet, huh?" Gilbert inquired, amused, and still recovering form the laughing fit.  
"Wh-what do you think..." Matthieu mumbled in return. The smaller, blond man sniffed, and grabbed the sleeve of Gilbert's shirt. He then began to walk off to some destination in his head. "You-you're coming with me..." This mumble was more determined, a stronger sound.  
"Says who?" Gilbert scoffed, although he wasn't fighting the tug on his sleeve.  
Matthieu turned, staring the German down with fierce eyes. "Says m-me!" This would have been slightly intimidating, if not for the stutter, which made it adorable.  
Gilbert slapped a hand over his mouth, trying to cover up the snicker forming in his throat. Too late.  
"S-stop laughing." The blond demanded.  
"I would," the familiar and unsettling laugh of Gilbert's rang out. "If you would stop stuttering."  
Those words seemed to have struck a raw nerve, because Mattieu was silent the rest of the way to... His house. Well, that was unexpected on Gilbert's part, honestly. He offered some resistance to the small tug on his shirt, but Mattieu was having none of it, and only pulled harder.  
"Kid, what the hell-"  
"You've been watching me for the past few weeks, so why not come in my damn house already?"  
Gilbert was taken aback by the harsh words, and even more by the lack of stuttering. The sentence was still very hushed, however. Fine, if that was what he wanted.  
"What was that?" The words were hot on the back of Mattieu's neck, an unprecedented attack on the soft skin. In return, he pulled the German forward, through the door, before tumbling after.  
The blond landed flat on his face, muttering "ow.", as Gilbert looked on from above, once again suffocating himself to keep from laughing.  
After the hilarity had passed, and it was obvious that Mattieu was not getting up, Gilbert rolled his eyes and sighed. He bent down, scooping up the smaller man in his arms.  
"Now why does this feel familiar?" He asked himself.  
Mattieu, on the other hand, was quietly babbling to himself about those fucking eyebrows. "It's the e-eyebrows. I s-swear it is." His hands were weakly waving around, as if to pluck more words from the air.  
Gilbert looked down, confused at all this talk. "What?"  
A hand was rather rudely slapped on his face. "Eyebrows."  
"Sure." The hand the made its way back to waving about, looking for words.  
The pair made it to Mattieu's bed room, where Gilbert dumped the blond on his bed.  
"I-I'm not gonna question how you know where this room was..." Mattieu whispered, and Gilbert snickered.  
"A good decision, really."

Soon, a quiet tension was created. The two were simply staring at each other, and Matthieu had started it, and the other wasn't one to back down. Gilbert was across the room, in a small arm chair, being the polite gentleman he was.  
"Are you ever gonna sleep?" Gilbert yawned.  
"N-No."  
"Well," tired arms stretched back. "I am then." He closed his eyes, ever present smirk holding strong.  
"A bad decision, really." Mattieu was the one to smirk, this time. Unfortunately, that smirk never fulfilled its promise, as the blond simply passed out on his bed. Odd couple, these two.  
Especially considering that one was almost sacrificed to the other. How ironic.

When sunlight woke the German the next day, he groaned to himself, as his muscles were cramped and aching. "I may not age, but damn..." The words grumbled out, hardly decipherable.  
After stretching out the ache as best as he could, Gilbert looked over at Mattieu, blinking a few times to clear his vision. It was a confusing sight, because the blond was staring off into space, astral eyes oddly wide.  
Gilbert cocked his head, trying to decipher exactly what was going on. "You possessed, or something? If so, sweet." A lazy smile staked its claim on his lips after the words left his mouth.  
Mattieu twitched suddenly, shrinking down into his blankets. "N-no, I'm fine..."  
Gilbert shrugged, standing. "Too bad. Well, I'm off." The German said nonchalantly, walking off.  
Mattieu turned to watch him leave, wincing as his body protested the movement. He wanted to ask why Gilbert was leaving, but something told him that he shouldn't do that. Even though that made no sense, he had every right to ask! In fact, that's why he brought him to his house, to ask the German questions! So... Why didn't he? Looks like there's another question to ask.

I do believe I shall spare a few bloody details, this story is already long enough. (Maybe ill do a lil something on this later) I don't know if you could guess, but eventually, the two hooked up. Shocker. Although, I will say, it was Matthieu who asked Gilbert. Little devil, that one.

**one year later**

A creeping chill crawled up Gilbert's back, arousing him from his sleep. He lay still, tying to figure out what was causing his discomfort. An irritating truth dawned on him, similarly to how the sun's light did. Matthieu had tugged the blankets away from him, depriving Gilbert of the comforting warmth. It wasn't on purpose, but Gilbert took this act personally.  
"Hey." He grumbled, poking Mattieu's nose. "You woke me up."  
Surprisingly, Mattieu opened his eyes, a bright smile following soon after. "I know." His voice was still soft, but easily audible, at least.  
"Ah, so that's how it's gonna be, eh?" The challenging grin on Gilbert's face suggested that he was now fully awake, and already in a mischievous mood.  
"What are you gonna do now?" Mattieu sighed, raising an eyebrow. Honestly, he felt like the only adult around sometimes. Although, he didn't really mind, either.  
Gilbert took the other by surprise, pushing against Mattieu's chest in such a way that he fell right off the bed, landing on the hard wood floor below with a satisfying crack.  
The blond winced, that sounded painful. He creeped over, peering over the edge of the bed. There lay Gilbert, appearing as comfortable as ever.  
"Care to join me?" The German purred.  
"Nah, I think I will pass."  
"Wasn't much of a choice, there." Gilbert laughed, and grabbed Matthieu's shoulder, easily tugging the man down to the floor with him. In retaliation, Matthieu dropped like a dead weight, right on top of Gilbert, who had expected a little bit more flailing.  
Instead, he got a chest full of grown man, and when you aren't expecting a chest full of grown man, it will probably hurt like a bitch. So while Gilbert had curled up, wind knocked out of him, Mattieu had stood back up, smirking down upon him.  
"That was a real dick move your pulled there..." Gilbert complained, not having moved.  
"Hearing that from the master of dick moves, I will take it as a complement." The blond proceeded to click his tongue, and strutted out of the room as if he was a newly appointed king.  
Gilbert couldn't help but smile after him. "What a little bastard."  
After fully recovering, the German walked into the kitchen, half way through the process of taking off his shirt.  
"... Put your shirt back on." Matthieu shook his head, purposely looking away.  
"Nothing like a lil strip tease in the morning, huh?" These words speak for themselves.  
"I will throw this pancake at you."  
"Hey! What did I do?" The stripper grumbled, slipping his shirt back on grudgingly.  
Eventually, a pancake was indeed thrown at Gilbert, who caught it with ease, and ironically claimed, "Fire cannot kill a dragon."  
That earned him another cake from the pan, at a later, far less expected time. It hit him directly in the face, and while fire cannot hurt a dragon, pancakes can, apparently.

Wars never truly end. The grudges still exist, tensions never fade. This is only further proven by the invasion of the great city, a revenge anticipated for a long time.  
The day this revenge was enacted, a well known man was caught in the middle of it, defending what he had defended long ago.  
Unfortunately, one should not bring a knife to a sword fight. It rarely ends well, for one.

Gilbert cut down another marauder, then turned to face his next foe. What he was met with, however, was cold steel.  
It blasted a hole straight through his left lung, another in his mid section. His legs stumbled, trying to keep up with current events, but they soon crumpled, unable to quite grasp what had happened.  
It was not too long after, that the city was set ablaze, the great cathedral finally meeting its match.  
As for the bodies, they were dumped in the river. The raiders may have been wicked and cruel, but they did not waste what could be passed onto another.  
At the time he was dumped without a care, Gilbert still clung to life, unfortunately for him. It was a two way death: blood loss, and drowning. A rather horrendous way to go, in his opinion.  
Matthieu agreed. He was there, of course, but his utter unwillingness to fight may have been Gilbert's undoing. That, and the fact that he was never even seen by any of the Raiders, despite being in plain sight. Not until he had blindly stumbled right into one, was he noticed.  
He had dirty blood on his hands now, at least in his mind. Just like everyone else. So his death as not without warrant.  
No, it seems nothing good ever lasts. Especially not for those who deserve it most.

There was a dull thrum, just barely detectable by the ears. Horses' hooves beat the ground, traveling at a swift pace. This pace slowed rather quickly, as the man on horse back spotted something peculiar. Something familiar.  
He paced to the water's edge, surveying the mess of a man on its surface. He was not currently alive, blood soaked and battered, but he appeared to have been attempting to heal, as well. He had been trapped there for at least a week, then.  
Arkadi sniffed, and reached out, snagging the man from the water. His final gift, he nodded. It was a hard gift to give, but he had a favor to return, after all.  
Gilbert was gently placed on the horses back, like a hunter's most recent kill. Arkadi set off again, wasting no time to get to his destination.  
As the angel arrived, he slung his guest over his shoulder, entering the small house. Inside, a fire was lit in a very careful manner, Gilbert dumped in front of it. Arkadi was on the opposite side of the house, as far from the open flame as possible.  
Three days had passed, when Gilbert finally stirred. He groggily groped around for just a moment, before freezing, and twisting, trying to get a sense of his bearings. Arkadi was having none of this, and immediately explained the situation.  
The German listened in silence, before collapsing back to the floor, clearly forlorn.  
Arkadi merely shook his head, slightly disappointed. Although he did understood, he did not sympathize. Gilbert would have to learn, on his own. Love was no for those of forever beating hearts.

"Why... Why did you save me, again? I thought we were supposed to hate each other, do hate each other?" The words were weak, and breathy, conveying the health of their speaker.  
"We do. I was merely repaying a debt." Was the simple reply.  
"... And what was that? I don't recall ever saving your pathetic ass." These words were spat, harsh and angry.  
"I'm afraid I must pop your self absorbed bubble there, but you did. I'm surprised you do not recall." In return, a hostility grew.  
"Oh yeah? Tell me, then." The challenge was growled.  
"The day you shot me, yes? Difficult for me to recall, for I nearly committed an unspeakable act. If you hadn't been there to blow my brains out, I'm afraid I could never have forgiven myself." Pain sliced through the air, darkening the sky.  
"Now," Arkadi growled, eyes shut. "Get out."

Time passed. Years dragged on, never waiting for anyone to catch up with them. Gilbert drawled along, stunned by the way time traveled.  
Recollections of all he had done in his life flew through his mind.  
Those he had lost. The life he had given up for one he had thought would be so incredibly better.  
His own changes, what he had become, what he had done...  
Lost in his own labyrinth of a mind, the war torn man fell asleep.

A slow, chilling melody flowed on cold air. It haunted the room, lurking in the dark corners, flying out open windows. It was late at night, and Gilbert was soothing himself with a little flute playing. It always seemed to help, but at the same time signify how he had lost control over his life long, long ago.  
Gilbert was alone.  
And there was nothing he could do to change it.

... [end] ...


	2. Golden

**Golden**

 _This particular piece is a Drabble, one written to tell the fate of Mattieu (Canada) from the previous story. It involves a few OCs of mine, and is merely something I wrote on a whim. Enjoy~_

—

As we all know... Mattieu was pretty ordinary. Other than the whole almost being sacrificed thing in the very beginning. But that's beside the point.

So yeah, ordinary, ordinary... Even with his odd little bits, he went unnoticed, except for by that one striking man... Who came into his life, and right back out of it in one violent swing.

To say that it is devastating to see someone you love killed before your very eyes, while you stand by, powerless, unnoticed, painstakingly ordinary, is quite the understatement. Oh yes, it was painful. More painful than having your jaw damn near knocked off of your face. Worse than feeling bloodied metal slide down your throat, even more terrible than the disgusting things they did to dying bodies... Yours, specifically...

But, as the world went dark, and the heavens glowed bright, this is where our story begins.

...

Mattieu could hear gurgling. His gurgling to be specific. It was quite disgusting, and he would gag, although the sword rammed down his throat made that quite impossible. Oh, he was sorry that his ears hadn't been destroyed, especially now that he heard loud whines, men mewling over his destroyed body. Oh... Why did he have to appear so feminine? It caused such trouble...

He could only pray that the fabled white light would take him soon enough... Maybe he could apologize to Gilbert a couple hundred times more.

But no, no... His death was slow and agonizing... A nasty little hiding wench, he was... Deserved it, he did. He and all his kingdom.

...

Pale violet eyes blinked against harsh light. Had he finally arrived? He hoped so. The sooner the better...

In all directions a perfect dawn stretched, and a golden haze coated everything it touched in mysterious light. Above, stars bloomed and formed constellations of times long past, nebulas exploded and comets traveled. Below, a cloud of massive proportion held a town created by fantasy. Buildings reminiscent of ancient empires long having fallen sprouted from impossible foundations, and fountains poured mist cascading rainbows.

Mattieu stared in awe, this had not quite been what he had expected. "Not that I'm complaining..." The murmur escaped his thoughts.

Still stunned by the sudden beauty, Mattieu hardly noticed the immediate attention focused on him. About twenty pairs of eyes, both new and used watched him closely.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" A voice sounded from beside him, startling the freshly dead soul.

Just within his vision stood an angel like none he had ever seen before. Her beauty was not described in curves, but the sheer power her body flowed with. Muscles rippled beneath her skin as she breathed. Her scant cloaks flowed above her toned flesh, creating a ghostly effect. Mattieu could not help but shiver once or twice in her presence. The kind and loving smile on her face was reassuring, however.

"Do you have a name, dear?" This angel turned to face him.

"... M-Mattieu..." The blond replied, voice hardly audible. He was still stunned, overwhelmed by all that was going on.

"Mattieu?" The heavenly woman repeated, confusion flitting over her face. It only lasted a moment, before her smile returned, and a laugh echoed from deep in her chest. "Mattieu! My son!" She greeted with such cheer, pulling up the boy before her and embracing him tightly.

Mattieu could do little but accept the hug, unable to escape her grasp. What kind of after life was this?

"Everyone, come greet the newest Angel!" Artemisia called out after releasing Mattieu, and soon the watchers approached. The group consisted of other Angels and elders, all curious and happy to meet the new one.

Angel... She had called him an angel... Mattieu tried to figure out what was going on, and at the same time avoid the tightly knit swarm around him.

"Oh, back off now!" Artemisia shooed off some of the nosey younger ones, seeing how uncomfortable Mattieu was. Taking his hand, she led him on a little tour of the scape, all the while explaining what was what, who was who, and so on. Despite not having asked a single question, Mattieu listened gratefully.

...

Mattieu discovered that, no, this was not the afterlife. More comparable to a life extension. He was a Golden Warrior, or, he would be in time. His soul was special, gathered for the purpose of preserving life as it was. So much more was explained... He could hardly recall it all.

... And while he was sad, as Gilbert was no where to be found... He had little choice, now. No reason to pout, he supposed.

But, before anything else... His wings had to grow.

His wings, at that time, were laughable little fletching things, covered with soft gray fluff rather than feathers.

So... It would take time for these things to grow. Might as well spend that time catching up on your culture, right?

...

It was ten years later, that he was finally ready to start his real training. His wings had grown massive, and shone golden, just like his hair. Long feathers decorated the strong appendages, promising powerful flight. Sure, his first fly didn't go so well... But it would eventually get better.

From there, the real fun began. It was time to learn the ways of the Warrior.

...

To summarize how well that went... I would say that at least Mattieu was 'creative'. (I might add in some scenes later on)

...

His time had finally come. Twenty five physical years had past, and with his wings fully grown, and his soul as pure as ever... His day to be a true Warrior was upon him.

While still quiet, shy, and unfortunately awkward at the worst times, Mattieu had grown to be a Warrior just like any else. He was admired for the fact that he was not quick to draw a weapon, not to mention his soft attitude and kind heart.

"Step forth, Son." Artemisia summoned, that same bright smile on her face. She was awarding Mattieu with his Weapon, a special sword that would allow him to traverse dimensions to his own accord.

Mattieu did as he was told, mind buzzing with excited bees.

"Take in your hand this sword, awarded by your creator, if within your breast lies a heart bound to our unspoken code." The Arch Warrior spoke words countless centuries old, a tradition passed down from the first Warriors.

Mattieu slowly reached his hand out, allowing a few moments of silence to pass, before his hand connected with Artemisia's, with his prize for all of his hard work.

As soon as his fingers brushed up against the cool metal, and warm hand, his body went rigid. The air rushed far from his mouth, and violet orbs vanished into the back of his skull. Falling back, his wings were partially crunched beneath his body. Feathers of gold turned deep grey, but not a single one fell from its perch.

...

 _The mortal world was a wonderful place. Somewhere of chance, where nothing was ever certain. The life that roamed it was unique and beautiful, from the smallest flower to the mightiest dragon._

 _At least, that's what Tabris believed._

 _It was late, dusk had begun to overtake the land. The final rays of light struck his wings. The golden ginger color looked to be alive with embers, sparks flying in the dying light._

 _"Tabi, Tabi." A soft voice near him mewed. With a small grin, the Warrior turned to face his partner._

 _Her unusual silver-streaked-black wings glinted against the dying sun, creating a ghastly effect. "Beautiful, Diantha. That is the answer."_

 _The gorgeous angel in question was a daughter of Artemisia... Tabris was lucky to have her as a partner, he never forgot this._

 _Diantha smiled sweetly, partially covering herself with her wings._

 _The surrounding grassland had grown dark now, but the sun's warmth remained._

 _"I wonder if it will come back in the morning..." The lovely young woman mused, falling back in soft, short grass._

 _"We will have to wait and see, won't we?" Tabris replied cheekily, propping himself up near the other._

 _"Yes... Wait and see." Diantha distractedly traced the path of the moon with her eyes. Those haunting eyes. Dark skies were cracked and rippled by bright bolts within her fascinating orbs. Tabris could not help but stare. His own were far more ordinary, a frost blue that hid his inner thoughts beneath thick ice._

 _"You're staring again..." Diantha pointed out, mocking an irritated tone._

 _Tabris scoffed, swatting at her shoulder. "As if you would have it any other way!"_

 _Looking hurt, Diantha rolled over, beyond the man's prying eyes. "I would..." She murmured._

 _Tabris opened his mouth to reply, but stopped himself as he thought over her words. "Would you, now?" He questioned, eyes half lidded and dreamy._

 _The smaller angel took her time to reply. She was not of many words, but much thought. "Yes. I would." She flipped over, sitting up._

 _Her strength was surprising as she pressed Tabris flush against the ground, partially draping her own body over his._

 _Passionate lips collided with his own, and a silver tongue slipped into his mouth. Her taste was death defying... Intoxicating and dangerous all at once, like a hypnotic venom._

 _His mind barely even registered the thin shirt slipping off of his body, for everything was right in the world, he could not ask for more._

 _As his partner broke their kiss, Tabris stared once more at her mystifying eyes. Her words barely reached his ear, "I wouldn't have it any other way, Tabris..."_

 _A sudden cry broke the enchantment. Sunk deep in his side, a toxic blade elicited a sharp wail from Tabris. He struggled away, kicking at nothing, until he finally jerked the small dagger from beneath his ribs. His brilliant red blood rushed from the puncture, drenching the soil beneath the hawk-winged warrior._

 _Looking up now... He wished he hadn't. The paralytic toxin in his system was not necessary, not when faced with something like this._

 _Before him, stood a sight so horrible he could hardly register it. The one he had loved for so long, she was no longer. No, this creature before him was not... Could not be..._

 _"Tabris... Your wings are so lovely. Did you know that?" Diantha asked delicately. Her disastrous wings wreathed around her, looking misshapen and dead. All of the silver feathers that once called her appendages home had fallen away, leaving a bare structure. This would not do, of course... So to replace the missing bits, Diantha stole from others. She killed._

 _Her illusion was strong. It had fooled so many for so long... Those who finally saw past it were already far too late to point any fingers. Their fate was sealed._

 _Shears began to snip away at the most valuable feathers. These resembled a hawk's, powerful with youth and vigor._

 _Tabris was frozen in time, paralysis set in. He could not scream, nor could he cry. Not out of pain nor sorrow. All that escaped him were ragged pants. His thoughts were filled with desperation, doubt, and the dooming sense of mortality._

 _It was not long before Diantha had a small collection of feathers, but she did not look finished. Not at all. "My dearest, you can see that I have plucked a few of your feathers. Fear not, I have left you with many more of the prized primary tufts." The wicked angel smiled, her grace and mercy knew no bounds. "But... I need something else, too, you know. Adhesive. Feathers do not stick themselves."_

 _Diantha moved closer, and Tabris whimpered. In her hand, was a cleaver. Her Weapon, one that she carried with pride._

 _"I would use what has leaked from you already, but I prefer only the freshest." Broken wings drew Tabris up, and lips embraced his one last time. "I did love you, you know." Was the last thing Diantha murmured, her soft words brushing up against her partner._

 _Tabris had no other option. He broke his silence, yelling, "_ _ **Meretrix**_ _!" as he snagged Diantha's own dagger across her throat with what little strength he had. Her face lit up in surprise, then rage, but her wound was too devastating. Dealt by the weapon of a Warrior, a cut to the jugular was a death sentence for any of their kind._

 _The ever gorgeous form of Diantha fell back, fighting and spitting all the way down. Blood snaked all across her skin, staining her lovely form. It did not take long for the light to die in her eyes, but the furious glare directed at Tabris did not fade._

 _The remaining angel sat in silence. Her eyes. They would not stop staring._

 _"_ _ **Prohibere vultus ad me!**_ _" He spat. His words were not answered. Snarling, Tabris took in his hand the discarded cleaver._

 _"_ _ **abominationes mendax!**_ _" The bark echoed across the field, for no one's ears to hear. He brought the sword down with immense force. One wing fell away, becoming dark ash as it separated. Tabris coughed, choking as he breathed in the evil substance. He moved on, whacking away another wing, which acted similarly to its twin._

 _He could still smell rank and dried blood, all mixed with his scent and Diantha's._

 _Tabris turned, retching. He tried to walk away, but only tripped over his own feet, ending up flat on his face. Hollow noises forced their way from his dry throat. "_ _ **Ego dilexi vos, ego dilexi vos...!**_ _" He whined. He did, he did love her, he did._

 _Everything was right, it had been for so long. What had happened? What spell was cast? How could..._

 _His questions went on, and on, filling his mind and mouth until dawn._

 _At first light, a figure stood over him. Her rage burned bright. This would be a day without mercy._

 _..._

 _..._

 _..._

 _Tabris quaked in fear. He could hardly register Artemisia's rallying cries, cries proclaiming his crime, as his ears could only make out his frantic heart._

 _His hands were bound, and he kneeled in clouds, praying to as many deities as he could for their merciful hand to intervene. No one had listened to his word. No, his injury, her body, the missing feathers... It could only mean one thing in Artemisia's mind. The worst sort of Fallen: the killer._

 _Oh, how Tabris so desperately wished he could say that this was backwards, he was merely defending his own life against the true killer. The true killer who remained under her illusion to all eyes aside from Tabris'. No, he could still see her devastating glare, and the gnarled stubs where her wings once were. The gag in his mouth prevented him from speaking anyway._

 _"- Murderers cannot be allowed to fade away peacefully." Artemisia continued. "We must end this treachery now. All in favor, raise your right wing and declare it so!"_

 _The mass that had formed to view this ceremony of the worst kind was undoubtedly for Tabris' destruction. Nearly all raised their wings and voices in agreement. Only a few, those who had known Tabris personally, remained still. Their hearts fell as the decision was made. Connecting glances with their lost friend one last time, they turned and fled, unwilling to see anymore._

 _Panic flared up, tremors running up his body visible now. Tabris felt sick, he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, he-_

 _Artemisia stood before the accused, tilting his head up to meet her eyes. They burned with a furious fire, one reminiscent of battle. "Tabris, you have been found guilty of a heinous crime, one of the near greatest magnitude. For this, you have brought upon yourself a punishment suiting your display." The arch angel referred to her daughter's mangled body. "Blame none but yourself for your suffering."_

 _The gathered warriors cheered their approval, jeering and roaring pleasure at the justice being served before them._

 _Tabris could not hold the powerful warriors stare. He ripped his head away, trying to block out all the curses of his name from his mind. How could they believe he had done this...? How could they betray him-_

 _Nine clawed tendrils streaked across his bare back. Tabris choked on his own breath, a cry trying to push past his gag but failing._

 _Artemisia grinned, she was not yet finished._

 _With each strike, reality seemed to grow farther and farther away. The Angel hardly recognized his own agony, not even as he saw droplets of blood fly past his face to the soft ground below._

 _It was only until something solid collided with his head that he was shaken back to life. Glancing towards it, he felt something else smash into his raw back, grit digging into the many scores across his skin. Then, it literally hit him: they were stoning him. Small pebbles stung his skin, larger stones bruised his body, but one particularly large rock crashed into his head, sending him to the ground reeling. His throat was raw, all he could do was moan softly to himself as his vision grew blurry, and his head took on a fuzzy quality. No thought was clear._

 _The hail stopped all at once. Artemisia's voice rang true once more, but there was no deciphering what she was saying. Then, a sudden whisper hugged Tabris' ear. "Your wings, your wings..." It whispered. Diantha had returned to haunt him? He groaned as loudly as he could, ushering away the insanity that plagued him._

 _His functioning wing stretched out awkwardly, as if to take its owner away from his death. Instead, Diantha's voice was replaced with that of her mother's. "You don't deserve those wings, Tabris." She hissed, but she would fulfill her sick wish in just a moment. For now, she wound a cord around the warrior's throat. It was tight, and when Artemisia ripped it free from its coil, it left a deep and welling canyon all around Tabris' throat. He shook violently, whimpering as bleary vision grew damp._

 _"Now..." The arch angel carried on, retrieving a weapon of her own, a halberd. "Fallen lose their wings's luster and beauty. Unfortunately, you will not last long enough to endure that process... So I must speed things up for you."_

 _Tabris heard these words clear as day, and his mouth managed one tiny, "no," just loud enough for Artemisia to hear. She growled, and drew back her axe, before slamming it down upon the flailing wing. It snapped like a twig under her brute force, dropping feathers like leaves off of a tree._

 _Tabris screeched, for the first time making a noise the crowd could hear. They grew quieter at this, now uncertain._

 _The next wing was treated no different, the axe brought down to chop the delicate bone. Once again, Tabris cried out. But this time, with words. "Your daughter is the killer, Artemisia." He wailed, gag between his teeth muffling his words. "I loved her, indefinitely I loved her. But she had a thirst not even love could quench." A small, dry sob cut him off for a moment. "She tried to kill me, she cut me, she cut me! My feathers were taken, she stole them! So many others she had... Her wings were black with their blood. Artemisia, please-" a thick crack silenced the clearing entirely, as Tabris' body was flung to the side, limp. The dull side of the Halberd had smashed into his skull._

 _"Say nothing more, wretch!" Artemisia howled, raising her axe to take the final swing. The cord had laid a path to follow, one marking the perfect death. But before she could swing down, a shockwave rolled through the mass._

 _They were all gasping and murmuring among themselves, pointing to Artemisia. The warrior looked at them, demanding an explanation. One was given, as she felt a devastatingly sharp pain race through her wings. From each appendage, dropped a single, large feather. They landed softly, but quickly turned an angry withered black, before they turned into nothing._

 _Artemisia stared at the spot her feathers had been a moment before. Her face had gone utterly pale. "Release him. Not here. No. Drop him." Her voice was hoarse as she clarified her meaning. She dropped her halberd, and turned away. She began to walk, and did not stop. No one dared to confront her. Not now, not ever._

 _..._

 _Tabris drifted down, down into sparkling nothingness. His shattered wings, destroyed mind, scared body were the only things left of what he once was_.

...

...

...

The crowd stared, unsure of what to do. Not even the eldest elders had seen something like this.

"... Bad omen." One whispered. A few others muttered among themselves as well, suspicions high.

But Mattieu gasped, pushing himself up in a panic, within moments of falling. His wings looked perfectly normal, as if what was just seen was some mirage or illusion.

"Mattieu, what happened?" Artemisia kneeled down by her child, who shied away from her comforting hand.

"Who is Tabris? Artemisia... I..." Mattieu tried to continue but a sudden dizziness over came him. He fell back once again, the devastating crack of skull against rock sending a few of the crowd cringing.

 _To be continued... Maybe._


	3. Transitions

**Transitions**

 _In this story, I did something very different. With Milo (Finland) as the main character, it is set in the far future. It is completely Drabble, and while a lot is explained, a lot is left up to question. Once again, a mere scrawl of my mind. Enjoy~_

Milo was unique. Still is, actually. Only now... Far more than before. He is beyond an inter-dimensional traveler, he's bashed through that standard. He's more of a Realm Traverser, I think. The only problem is, he doesn't know it.

...

Half lidded eyes saw nothing, their body slumped against a wall. Deaf ears escaped the screams, shots, boots crashing against toned metal floors. A frozen smile never relented in its joy. It was a good day.

The blood splattered against once grey walls added a nice touch. It was like graffiti, unwanted by the owners of the wall, but loved by the viewers.

It was a good day.

...

Milo turned a harsh corner, the sound of blood rushing in his ears nearly as loud as the hideous bellows that snapped at his heels.

His eyes saw red, as his body slid in slick blood. Crashing into a mangled corpse, the small blond sunk his teeth into his bottom lip to keep a yelp from escaping his panicking body.

It was coming, he could hear claws scrabbling across hard surface in excited chase. Smearing his face with the discarded liquid, Milo dragged the dead man from his comfortable spot, onto his own thinner frame. He held still, so still. Breath hardly dared to quiver from his lungs. The beast howled, crashing into a wall as it hit the turn too fast. It recovered within seconds, mind never leaving its hunt.

Milo could barely see from the corner of his eye, this creature. It's spine was twisted, broken, and it walked on all fours like a hound. Long claws sprang from its feet, like hooks shoved into the tips of ones fingers. Beyond that, Milo could hardly describe it. It was disgusting, random assortments of bits and pieces shoved oddly in ever which way.

The creature snuffled around, lapping at the blood on the floor. It relished the scent of death, but the smell of breath to steal was far more enticing. Milo almost retched as it drew far too close to him. It's mouth traced across the body above him, which it ripped away with a smirk.

"Found you~" it gnashed it's splintered teeth, preparing to rip Milo's pretty little head right off of his shoulders.

"Milo!" A shot fired, tearing the creature from its prize. It hit the opposite wall solidly, screeching. A larger man tore down the hall way, his gun positioned to continue fire if needed.

"No, no don't please!" Milo struggled to turn, warn his savior, but it was far too late. The beast screamed with delight, it's feral eyes blazing as it used the wall like a launch pad. The man hardly had time to scream before it was upon him, using claws to slice, teeth to crush, tail to bludgeon.

Milo stared in sheer terror as the monster snapped up bone, meat, organ alike. Dancing, it trampled its glorious feast. But it suddenly froze, shaking on its skinny limbs. A horrible retch rolled from its belly, vomiting up a pool of dank purple ooze. The ooze wasted no time, it spread itself throughout the carcass. Gurgling, the corpse began to cackle like a hyena. It rose up, tripping over itself in its insanity.

The original creature whooped, circling its little art project. "My beauty, my lovely, the light of my eye!" It purred, then stopped without a moment's notice. Its head turned to face Milo, disturbing face plastered with a grin. "My Son~" it greeted, putting one paw in front of the other, painstakingly slow.

The other creature barked appreciation, unable to follow just yet. Its body was still forming, tissues reconnecting senselessly.

Milo could hardly move fast enough for himself. He would not be satisfied if he had broken the sound barrier in his frantic escape. His surroundings were a blur, he did not care. All he had to do was reach the end of the hall, that's it, a straight forward path.

He could feel hot breath on his skin, caressing the back of his neck, the ghost of teeth clamping onto his delicate body.

A second set of pursuing feet told him that his peril had just doubled. But he was so close...

"You're mine!" Milo was tackled mercilessly to the ground, skidding for a few moments over the floor. He was flipped harshly, now face to face with a mad beast. It held him there, staring. The newly made mate soon caught up, still clumsy. "Milo, Milo!" The mate cackled. "Watch out, be careful!"

Scooting ever so close, the original monster's head tilted far beyond natural ability. "Milo, Milo?" It repeated. "Hah! Devast, Devast!"

From behind, the other spoke once more, high pitched and squeaky. "Snare, Snare!"

Devast and Snare, as they were named, cut off their laughter. Milo's breathing had grown rugged, vision blurred with what he prayed were tears.

Their smiles had vanished, replaced with blank looks.

"What..?" Milo managed to gasp out, but his voice was soon lost as jaws delicately encircled his throat. "I'll make it quick, just for you, Son." Devast whispered, voice gentle and kind.

Milo clamped his eyes shut, and a crunch was the last thing he heard.

...

His body was floating, and it was inevitable that a small grin formed on his soft face. Fuzzy voices tickled his ears, he could hardly make out what they were saying. " _Open your eyes, it's time to wake up, Milo..._ " They whispered, voices sweet like cream.

Well... When they put it like that...

Milo was violently ripped into reality. There was a deafening blaring in his ears, red lights crashed around him erratically. His flesh felt numb, and he trembled as if possessed. Looking across his body, it was painted with foreign blood, the same purple mess that had stolen one of his peer's body. The small man scrambled backwards, wailing despite himself. He didn't get far, a wall collided with his back, stopping him.

Taking a moment to calm himself, Milo recognized the hall, the smell, the alarm. Turning his head to look back down the hallway, he saw destroyed bodies, sizzling and burning away. A shaking hand rose to his throat, and he nearly sobbed as he felt large gash marks. But he was not dead... No, the gashes were not deep enough to kill him. Taking his hand away from the devastated area, Milo stood on shaking legs.

He approached the dead creatures, sick curiosity possessing his movements. Upon closer inspection, he saw that these were the dead Devast and Snare. Their faces were still images of stricken panic. Flesh and bone melted together in their centers, a hollow cavity streaked with some vile new liquid. A dripping noise caught Milo's attention, causing him to look directly downwards. On the floor below him rested more of this oddity that had killed the creatures. It hissed and spat, vicious in its nature. Ever so slowly, Milo reached towards his mouth, and whimpered as he felt something wet touch his fingers. Pulling this substance away from him, Milo examined it. Acid. It was acid.

There was acid dripping from his mouth. Suddenly woozy, Milo spun around, heading towards the exit. He barely made it to the door before collapsing.

(...)

The Intergalactic Navy, or I.N., was a fine organization. Wide spread, it worked like a government, with power spread between several branches and factions alike. It functioned simply to protect the common people of known existence. Any subordination or corruption was stomped out... As soon as awareness of said corruption was had.

Unfortunately for Milo, this had not happened yet with his particular circumstance. And it never would.

(...)

Milo was a simple man, one with a not so simple destiny. But that didn't bother him, not at all. He wasn't one to complain, after all. Not even after his own faction betrayed him, for one simple jewel supposedly worth more than their lives.

He was trapped in his own room, with more hope for death than escape. He wished that he had never come across this glowing rock. He want sure where it had even come from. He had been on a mission, a rather rugged one, and he was shot down. When he came to, the gem was secured in his hands. Milo did not understand it's purpose, but it was clear to him that it could not be good. Not from the greedy looks of those around him. Only a few good men protested the other's actions. Of course, their words held little worth in this war of gods and money.

The small blond barricaded himself away in his room, praying to the stars and back that the other men would come to see reason. It was only when his Commander's voice rang over the other's that he felt relief. The Commander was a sensible man, one Milo had known for a long time.

But as he exited his safe room... Milo learned that something far more sinister had been going on. It was no coincidence that he ended up with the gem. The Commander had ordered it to be delivered to him through trustworthy Milo in some manner or another. It was a due for some massive debt owed to the Commander. It was to be sold as a weapon of mass destruction... How, the Commander did not know nor care. He was glad that Milo had not just handed it over to some random crew-man. Less happy when Milo refused to turn it over to him like a good little Navy man should.

Traitor, he was called. Disobeying the Commander was a high treason. Especially when false information said that Milo had even gone as far as to stab the Commander to keep his 'stolen wealth'.

News had been spread that day, as Milo ran off, that he had stolen a sacred artifact of some sort, and planned on selling it, killing any who got in his way. Vicious pain gripped Milo as his simple life was torn apart. No longer was Milo the kind little sharp shooter he had been known to be. No, he was a runaway convict, his mind eaten away by greed.

Milo could only tell himself that he was doing what was right... There was something about this rock that just emanated trouble. His gentle hands could contain it, though... Lust and pleasure for war did not poison his mind.

The criminalized man could not run forever. No, the I.N. would not just see that a single man escaped them. Milo was captured in a timely manner, and sent off to a ship in the farther reaches of desolate space, a place he did not know. This ship was very efficient... It doubled as a prison and laboratory. Milo could guess what sort of experiments were conducted there.

It was upon arrival that he and the men dragging him along had realized something was wrong. Milo had little choice but to be dragged along as the officials investigated. He lucky he was that they were there, for their meat and bones acted as a distraction for Milo to run. Whatever happened, he still had the gem. Whatever happened, he was free.

...

An experiment had gone horribly wrong. A special sort of gel had been made by the scientists, one that could fix broken machinery by reconnecting hardware and what not. It was highly intelligent in a sense, learning as it was introduced to the environment needing fixing. A true miracle product, that would save both time and lives.

Of course... They had to take it a step further. A corpse was all they needed. One lucky prisoner's suffering was cut off early, in a way, as he was chosen. His fit body was the perfect testing grounds. Once implemented, the gel worked against itself in this new environment. It reacted horribly with living cells, creating a cancer of itself. At this point, it shut down entirely, refusing to function any longer. It needed to sort itself out, learn...

The body adjusted soon enough. Perhaps not in the most logical way, but in the whole mess, things had become mixed up. The gel was compensating as well as it could.

But it fed on memory as much as it did DNA. This prisoner's memories were particularly horrific... His final desire was to wipe the universe clean of those who had wronged him... For, like Milo, he was falsely accused and shoved away in a dark corner to be forgotten.

The gel saw the supposed purpose of this man's mind, took it into consideration. It had no moral, no sense of wrong or right. It was merely fulfilling this 'machinery's purpose.

It did so with a ruthlessness. By the end of the day, there was hardly a single living thing left of the ship, and by the end of a few day cycles, the ship itself would be no more. The core was sabatogaged, and would implode.

This was for the best, of course. All along, it had been.

...

Milo could not remember. But he could feel. His muscles burned with a fire, as if they had been ripped and shredded. Blood gushed from his scalp, over his face. His hands fumbled with themselves, they held something dear to him within them.

What had happened, the blond wondered. A few fuzzy images of blurred faces appeared within his thoughts, none spared enough time to be worth anything to him.

"Give it..." the voice tore apart his mental reality, ripping open his dulled eyes. No, he could not see... His eyes were gone. They were black pits in his skull, reminders of what had once been. "I'll say it one more time... GIVE ME THE STONE!" a sickening crunch below him brought forth a thought, one of the cruel beast that had wanted to snap his neck. Now, he had a cruel beast cracking his bones. He couldnt tell which, it didn't matter anyhow. All it did was hurt, where changed nothing.

"I don't have it!" he sang, voice full of rusted vigor. "It's gone, I destroyed it..." he was a terrible liar.

"boy, lyin' won't get you anywhere." the throaty voice snapped right next to his conciousness. "you're lucky we need that little tongue of yours for now, because when I get the chance, I'm snipping it off."

Milo smiled to himself. He loved his voice, it was soft like caramel. "it's in my hand."

His hand was grabbed quite roughly, followed by the other. "what did I say about lyin, huh?"

"ah, not so fast..." Milo took his hands from his soon to be killer's grasp. Looking at the back of his hand, he sighed, and a small sheet fell off of his skin. It matched his skin tone precisely until it fell away, in which it grew more of a metallic look to it. The maddened Milo tore it open, releasing a molecular flattened gem with monstrous capabilities.

"I'll be..." Milo heard a soft sheen of metal, he had expected nothing less, and he nearly relished the smooth slide of the blade as it neatly sliced through his innards. Blood was displaced, shoved from its home. It searched for new territory, trailing upwards. Milo's mouth was transformed into a small and slow flowing volcano of red.

A gasp was heard, but Milo had already faded to the back of his mind, waiting for his weakened self to give out and let him run free. The scent of burning skin left a disgusting taste in his mouth, but he couldn't complain. However... The scream that did not even belong to him crashed into his ears, marking the last thing he would ever hear. He was a little dissapointed in this, truly he had hoped to hear music of some sort, sending him off to meet the next world.

Damn space pirates, curse their thieving and cruel ways.

...

...

...

" ** _Ah... Ahhahah, so you are the holder of the gem... Simply gorgeous._** " a voice like that of rumbling quakes, tumbling mountains, far away explosions blasted through Milo's reality. It rocked him to his very core.

Dark eyes shot awake, a mind reborn. His lungs drew deep breaths, relishing the feeling of living. Before him, a sight his mind had trouble processing.

It was a beast as large as a star yet small as man, as if it couldn't hold one solid form, and was constantly switching around. It's back was torn apart by monstrous jagged crystals. Crystals just like the one Milo had given up his life to protect, like the one that still remained in his hand.

The unstable being was nothing short of a dragon. It's scales and staggering teeth reflected sourceless light, despite the surroundings being more empty than the wastelands of space. Wings of unimaginable proportion stretched farther than Milo could perceive, tattered in all of their glory. Adorning the Dragon's head were horns, regal and deadly.

Rumbling laughter nearly shattered perceived reality as the drake studied Milo. " ** _Oh, you poor thing._** " it said, drawing near enough to Milo to touch him. The blond in question was frozen stiff, suspended without physical law. He could not move or even speak if he wanted to. But his frantic heartbeat expressed what his mouth could not. The massive dragon reached out a clawed hand, ever so delicately taking Milo in his grasp. He studied the small human down to the last visible detail, it seemed, scrutinizing over his body.

" ** _How could one so small handle my power without so much as a flinch...?_** " Again, laughter echoed across endless space. " ** _So silly of me... I picked you in particular, and it pleases me greatly that you managed to make it this far. You have always pleased me, yes... But as much as I would love to..._** " Teeth drastically dwarfing Milo were within inches of colliding with his skin. So desperately did the young man wish to dart away, to leave behind whatever mysterious hell this was.

" ** _I cannot keep you here... Oh, precious Milo... Stay safe, would you? I dread seeing your desirable little life fade once more._** " A jaw capable of crushing small planets wavered in front of his face, questioning their next move.

" ** _Ohh, but how I love to hear your bones crunch..._** " the dragon purred to himself, giving into his desires. He moved with sudden intensity, craving the body he eviscerated within his jaws.

Milo was seized up, snapped into a maw more than able to accommodate him. He did not agree with the shattered drake, the sound of his bones crippling beneath great force did not please him. Nor did the overall displacement of his torn bits and pieces. It did not last long, however, as a darkness far deeper than death consumed him.

...

...

...

...

All across these ancient lands, a cry rang out. Not all would be able to hear, but those that did would be stricken. For this wail was not of their world.


End file.
